


All In Good Time (A Beatles Time Travel Romance)

by KTLane



Category: Beatles, Paul McCartney - Fandom
Genre: Beatles - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 131,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTLane/pseuds/KTLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The one you love is only a step away."<br/>Lainey Spencer scoffed at the words of the old gypsy fortuneteller. Then the woman handed her a locket ring revealing her grandmother's deepest secret, and the magical ride began.</p><p>©KTLane</p><p>https://www.wattpad.com/user/kiwi747</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gypsy Woman

 

 

 

London, 2012

London was exactly as Lainey Spencer had always imagined it: classical architecture, rich history, museums on practically every corner, the smell of damp stone buildings and musty rain mixed with car exhaust, people scurrying to and fro, but always orderly and efficient.

The Underground was clean, well lit and without graffiti, a refreshing change from the subways in New York City and DC. The trains in England were small and cute, the colorful stations unique and full of character. Harried commuters grew visibly impatient when Lainey held them up fumbling with foreign money and tickets, but a helpful train attendant magically appeared and soon set her on her way.

From her seat in a tidy carriage she watched a group of schoolboys board the train, thinking how cute they looked in their uniforms, until they began ruthlessly teasing the girls in front of them, pulling their hair and generally being obnoxious. She settled back in her seat and puzzled over the posted map of colored lines, hoping she had counted the zones correctly and had enough tube passes to get to her destination and back.

Lainey was on a quest. The grandfather she’d never known had been born in England, and had lived and worked in London for a time. Lainey had known nothing about him until she came home from school one day to find her grandmother in tears. That night, Lainey’s mother had pulled her onto her lap and whispered a tale of young love and heartbreak.

Grandma Marie was only 16 years old and living in the north of England when she met a dark-haired, dark-eyed, lanky teen with a huge talent and a head full of dreams. She’d fallen head over heels in love, and her heart had been broken when her military father had moved the family back to the United States while the boy was in Germany with his band. Grandma Marie had been back in Virginia for only two weeks when she discovered she was pregnant. She never spoke to the dark-eyed handsome boy again, but she remembered him every time she looked at the face of her daughter.

The teenage English boy proved impossible to forget, as he soon became one of the most famous faces in the world. And that day in 2001, shortly before Lainey got home from school, Grandma Marie had learned the first and only boy she ever loved had died of cancer at only 58 years of age.

Now eleven years later, Lainey was in England for the first time. Her brother Matt had been accepted into a graduate program at Oxford. Lainey had saved every penny from her part time job in her father's record store and barely managed to afford a round trip ticket to London with her mother to help get Matt settled at school. It was their trip of a lifetime, and she wanted to cram as much sightseeing as possible into the next ten days.

That was how she ended up on the train to London, alone, while her mother and Matt slept off their jet lag. Lainey exited the St. John’s Woods tube station and checked her phone for directions. It was only a short walk now to the famed Abbey Road Studios, where her grandfather had spent years creating music that was still loved by people all over the world. Ever since she’d discovered she was related to him, she had longed to see the studio for herself.

Moments later Lainey joined the dozen or so people beside the gate, many of them writing messages on the wall outside the studio. She ran her hand along the wall, touching the words as she read. So much love directed towards these four lads from Liverpool.

“Need a pen?” An American girl offered her a Sharpie and Lainey smiled and took it, contemplating for a moment what to write.

_“George Harrison, you live forever in my heart”_

She drew a heart around the words and handed the Sharpie back to the girl.

“Aww,” the girl said. “I’m a George girl too.”

“Mmm. But Paul though…” Lainey smiled at the girl. While watching hundreds of YouTube videos of her grandfather, Lainey’s eyes often drifted to another dark-haired, brown eyed boy with an angelic face and honeyed voice. She’d never met anyone in her life who affected her the way that boy did—her grandfather’s childhood friend from fifty years ago. A man now old enough to be her grandfather.

The girl nodded. “Right? I love Paul too. I love them all. What a freaking great band. Don’t you wish you could go back to the '60s and see them walk down those steps?”

Lainey looked around at the never ending line of people waiting to pay homage to the band by getting photographed crossing Abbey Road, then writing on the wall outside the studio. “You and me and everyone else.”

She pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures of a group of tourists walking in the zebra crossing made famous by the Beatles’ _Abbey Road_ album cover, more than forty years ago. After checking her texts, she returned her phone to her handbag as another red double-decker bus zoomed by, barely missing a pedestrian. She wondered if the surviving Beatles, Paul and Ringo, ever got stuck in traffic here and regretted the havoc they had wrought upon this stately neighborhood simply by posing for an album cover.

“Lainey! Lainey! Young lady!”

Lainey’s ears perked up and a flicker of apprehension coursed through her. It was the strangest thing, but it almost sounded as if someone was calling her name, in an Eastern European accent, until she realized the woman must have been saying “Lady.”

She turned to see an old woman with striking black eyes set in a lined face. The woman was dressed in a colorful gypsy skirt with a red flowered scarf over her hair, sitting with her back against the brick wall. An assortment of jewelry was arranged on a pashmina shawl on the ground beside her.

“You have been looking long time for me, no?”

Lainey smiled. “I don’t think so, but your jewelry is lovely.”

“Come close, dear.”

Lainey squatted down in front of the old woman, wishing she’d noticed her earlier and snapped an inconspicuous photo. Part of the wonder of London was the variety of cultures in this diverse city. It felt so European and magical, so different from her little hometown in Virginia.

The old woman reached for her hand, flipped it over and examined Lainey’s palm. “The one you love is closer than you think. Only little step away.”

Lainey steeled herself for the sales pitch. She imagined it would go something like, “If you want to know how to find him, slap a twenty pound note in my other hand.”

Before she could thank her and move away, the woman reached into a pocket of her skirt and dropped a heavy gold ring into Lainey’s palm. “This is what you seek.”

“Oh…wow…this is…” Lainey studied the ring in her hand. The top was shaped like a scarab, and it swiveled to reveal a gothic letter S engraved on the back. _S for Spencer_. She drew in a breath. It was obviously antique and valuable, and far more than she could afford.

She held it out to the woman. “It’s lovely, but I can’t afford this.”

The woman shook her head, smiling. “Is yours.” She began rolling the rest of her jewelry in the shawl. She tied it into a bundle and struggled to stand.

Lainey automatically reached out a hand to help. When the woman got to her feet, she looked up at Lainey with a mysterious smile and said, “Until we meet again,” before ambling down the sidewalk.

“Wait! The ring!”

The woman seemed not to hear.

Lainey caught up with her. “I can’t keep this!”

“You have been seeking for long time. I only give what is yours.”

“Here, let me pay you something.”

Paul McCartney’s clear, sweet voice suddenly sounded from inside Lainey’s shoulder bag. _“You say goodbye, and I say hello…hello…hello…I don’t know why you say goodbye I say hello…”_

Lainey dug out her iPhone and glanced at the screen. It was her mother, checking to see that she’d made it safely to London. Lainey silenced the phone. She’d return the call as soon as she paid for the ring.

She shifted through the contents of her wallet. Her driver’s license, her bank card, a meager stack of pound notes and a handful of foreign coins. The ring was worth far more, but the woman probably didn’t have a credit card machine in the pockets of that voluminous skirt. And Lainey couldn’t afford to pay what it was worth anyway. She should give the ring back.

She counted out twelve pounds. “I’m sorry, this is all I have with me. I know it’s not enough. Do you have a shop?” When she looked up from her wallet, the tiny old woman was gone.

Lainey did a 360 degree turn on the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding a flow of pedestrians. Nothing but businessmen and tourists and long lines of traffic in both directions. It was as if the little old gypsy woman had disappeared into thin air.

A cloud drifted across the late afternoon sun and Lainey felt an eerie, clammy feeling on the back of her neck. She examined the ring in her hand more closely and realized the scarab top opened like a locket. With a thumbnail she pried it open, and her heart stuttered. Inside the antique locket was a tiny black and white photo of a very young George Harrison.

She snapped the ring closed and her hand went to her mouth. What on earth was going on? The only plausible explanation she could come up with was that the woman had looked at the photo inside the locket and thought Lainey, with her own dark brown wavy hair and brown eyes, somehow resembled George? She spun the top of the ring over to the gothic letter S and back to the scarab. Then she slid it on the ring finger of her right hand, surprised to find that it fit perfectly.

All thoughts of an afternoon of sightseeing in London vanished. All Lainey could think about was getting on the next train to Oxford to show her family the ring and the photo inside. She curled her fingers around the ring and started in the direction of the tube station.

As soon as she stepped off the curb she realized she’d made a typical tourist mistake of looking in the wrong direction for approaching traffic. Someone shouted and a horn blared, much too close. She whirled around to see a black sedan bearing down on her. She threw herself backwards, stumbled over the curb and fell, the back of her head banging hard against a lamppost.

The car whizzed by, the horn still blaring, and the world turned black.

 

Lainey opened her eyes to a world filled with blinding pain and sun that was far too bright for London. She squeezed her eyes closed. Voices filtered into her brain, and it seemed as if the voices were talking about her. She forced herself to concentrate, to stay conscious. She could end up in a London hospital and nobody would know who she was.

“Elaine Spencer,” she whispered. “I’m American. My mom is…”

“She’s coming to, lads. Give ‘er some room.”

She opened her eyes again, squinting against the glare, and knew immediately that her head injury was far worse than she’d thought. She was hallucinating. Or in the afterlife. She let out a groan. If this was heaven, why was there so much pain? But if it was hell, what was HE doing here? Kneeling on the ground beside her? She covered her face with a trembling hand.

“You’re all right, lass, help is on the way. What’s your name, love?”

 _That accent._ She knew that voice like she knew her own. _Impossible._

She spread her fingers open and peered into the concerned face of an impossibly young and striking Paul McCartney, just before the world went black again.


	2. I Saw Her Standing There

Someone was slapping Lainey’s cheeks. _Back off!_ she tried to say, but her tongue was too thick and slow to form words. The back of her head felt as though it had been hit with a sledgehammer.

She cracked open one eye, and thankfully the slapping stopped. A group of young men had gathered around, peering down at her, blocking the sun. She blinked from one to the other. _A Beatle sky._ Maybe this was heaven after all.

Her head was propped on someone’s knees, which seemed to make it hurt even worse, if that was possible. Wincing, she tilted her head back just slightly and found herself staring into the down-sloping hazel eyes of Paul McCartney. Of the Beatles. He looked to be no older than Lainey herself.

“You aren’t real,” she whispered.

He was framing her face with his hands. “You’ve had a rather nasty knock on the noggin,” he said.

“You gave us quite a scare.” Another young man who looked vaguely familiar frowned down at her, pulling her attention away from Paul. _McCartney. Of the Beatles._

“Yeah! You ran right out in front of us, out of bloody nowhere!”

Lainey blinked up at another new but familiar voice, and in spite of the pain she felt a flood of relief at the sight of his beautiful, unlined face. Just like the little photograph inside the ring. “George. Thank god you’re alive. You’re perfect.”

“What’s she sayin’?” someone else asked. Lainey shifted her eyes. _Ringo._

“She says thank god George is alive,” Paul translated.

Lainey stared into Paul’s beautiful amber eyes. “George is my…my…”

Paul ducked his head to hear her over the traffic. “George is what?”

“George is my grandfather.” Lainey’s voice was a croak.

“George Martin?” Paul looked up. “Ring! Go get George Martin.”

“No…no…” Lainey swallowed, trying to make her brain connect to her tongue. “George Harrison is my grandfather.”

Paul reached his fingers around to the back of her head and he rubbed a tender spot that sent fresh waves of pain shooting through her skull. “Right. And I’m your great grandmother, love. And you have a knot on your head the size of a golf ball.”

Lainey focused on his beautifully shaped eyebrows and tried not to cry out. “What year is this?” she whispered.

Paul chuckled. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one who is concussed. What year do you think it is?”

Slowly her gaze swept over the faces of the young men, lingering on each in turn. Their hair was in the early mop top cut. Paul had the face of a cherub, and George looked like a teenager. “1963?” she guessed.

“Good answer.” Paul lowered her head and let it rest against his knees. _And damn that hurt._

“What’s your name, love?”

“Lainey. Elaine Spencer.”

Lainey tried to prop herself up on her elbows, flinching as a wave of pain radiated across the back of her head and down her spine.

“Easy, now, no need to move. You just relax. We’ll see you to a hospital.”

Hospital. _Hospital? In 1963?_ This couldn’t possibly be real, but if it was, she couldn’t be admitted to a hospital. With this blinding headache she couldn’t possibly answer all the questions they would ask her, and if she started talking about the year 2012 they’d likely pump her full of anti-psychotic medications. She’d never see her mother and her brother again. She had to stay focused until she found a way to get back to where she belonged.

Paul watched her closely, a frown of concern etched in his brow. He would help her. She felt sure of it. His hands still held her face. She reached up and gripped his wrists. “You have to help me.”

He nodded. “Of course, love.”

“No hospital! Please. I just have to get back to my mom. No hospital.”

“No problem. Where’s your mum?”

How was she supposed to answer that one? If this was 1963, her mother was a two-year-old baby living in Virginia. “Help me sit up. I need to think.”

When she got herself into a sitting position, someone knelt beside her with a paper cup half full of something that smelled blissfully like tea. _God bless the British_. She took it gratefully and looked up into the face of John Lennon.

“Oh my god, John Lennon!” she blurted out. “You look awesome!”

Even through a new flash of pain she didn’t miss the look John and Paul exchanged.

“You look...awesome, John,” Paul repeated.

“Ambulance on the way,” John said quietly.

Lainey shook her head vigorously, wincing at the pain. “No ambulance. No hospital. I need my mom.”

Beside her, Paul scratched his head. He watched her raise the cup to her lips with a shaky hand. Then he leaned in close. “Look in my eyes.”

She lowered the cup and stared at him as he peered back and forth between her eyes. He was so close she could see the tiny gold and green flecks in his hazel eyes.

“Pupils are the same size. How many fingers am I holding up?” He held up one thumb three inches in front of her nose.

It was such a McCartney thing to do that she almost laughed, but a new wave of pain hit. “Eleventy,” she muttered, pushing his thumb out of her face. “I’m fine. I just need to lie down somewhere for a few minutes and then I’ll call my mom.”

“All right, lads, let’s take her home and ring her mum from there.” Paul stood up and brushed off his dark trousers.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Paul—“

“You bloody near killed her Neil, and that makes us responsible for her.”

“She came out of nowhere,” George added.

“And now she’s going home with us.”

The one they called Neil stepped in front of Lainey and said a few low words to Paul.

“Don’t be so bloody neurotic, Neil. My mum was a nurse. I know what I’m doing.”

Paul took Lainey by the hand and pulled her to her feet. She swayed against him for a moment. “All right?” he asked.

“Yes. Really. I’ll be fine if I can just close my eyes for a few minutes.” She glanced away from him and almost fell back onto the sidewalk.

 _Everything was different._ Trees that had seemed twenty feet high only moments ago were saplings. The cars on the road, the hairstyles of the men and women, their clothing…it was like watching the History Channel. Even the red double-decker buses had changed from the sleek modern design with the oversized windows into the squat shorter buses like she remembered from old movies. The air seemed smoggier, and the smell of the river permeated everything.

Tears burned behind her eyes. She couldn’t even think what to do with her head pounding this way.

Paul dipped his head and searched her eyes. “All right?” he asked again.

“Yes. Just need to close my eyes.” She clutched Paul’s hand and didn’t protest as he led her to a black sedan idling at the curb.

Moments later she was motoring through London, sandwiched between Paul and Ringo, with George in the opposite corner of the back seat. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, resting her forehead on the heels of her hands. Immediately she felt a hand on her shoulder, fingers massaging her neck. _Good lord._ A baby-faced Paul McCartney was massaging her neck. With those hands that played the music that she listened to every day at home on her iPhone. _In 2012._

“Giz a ciggy, mate,” Paul said to someone, and soon all five of them were smoking strong smelling foreign cigarettes, and there wasn’t a fresh breath of air in the car.

Lainey let out an involuntary groan and tried to make sense of what was happening to her. Since she was ten years old she’d wished she could have known her grandfather. Maybe that’s why she was having this hallucination, or whatever it was. This had to be tied to the strange little gypsy woman. Certainly it was temporary. Maybe it was some sort of realistic comatose state, and she should ignore the pain in her head and make the best of it until she woke up on the street under a bus in 2012.

She sat up suddenly and turned toward Paul. His face was inches from hers. She coughed a little and waved at the smoke and peered at him more closely. “Good Lord. You really are as pretty as you look on YouTube.”

He laughed shakily and stopped massaging her neck. “Say again?”

Lainey clamped her mouth shut. She should stop talking. She looked at Ringo next. The expression on his face made her want to laugh. He looked as sweet and dazed as he did in most of the videos she’d watched of him. “Ringo,” she whispered.

And George, sitting in the opposite corner smashed against the door, nodded at her when their eyes met. She leaned forward, blatantly staring.

George raised an eyebrow. “‘Ello,” he said with an uneasy smile.

Those cheekbones. _That smile._ Lainey’s mother had the same crooked smile.

“Oh my god!” Lainey blurted out. “Look at your teeth!”

George snapped his lips closed, frowning. “What's wrong with 'em?”

Lainey tapped one of her teeth with a finger nail. “Your canine teeth. They’re fangs. Your teeth look exactly like mine. Except…I had braces…” She suddenly thought of something. “Is your mother in Liverpool? I would give anything to meet her. She’d know what to do.”

George’s brows were knit together in a picture of confusion. “You want to meet my mum.”

“Oh God yes,” Lainey murmured. “I’d give anything to meet her. I thought about contacting your sister in Illinois, so many times, but I didn’t know how she would react—”

From the front seat, John turned around and examined Lainey through a haze of smoke, his eyes narrowed. “Who the fook are you, any road, and how do you know so much about us?”

“Nobody, really,” Lainey muttered. She realized she was acting like a lunatic, but who wouldn’t, in this situation. Her head still felt like it had been squeezed in a vice. She needed to stop talking, and when her head cleared, she’d figure out what to do. If only they had the internet in 1963, she could do a Google image search and see if she could find out the history of this ring…

“My purse!” Her gaze flew around the car, her heart jumping into high gear.

John passed her handbag from the front seat, and Lainey blew out a relieved sigh.

“Thank you.” She aimed a smile at John, but he was already staring out the front window.

Paul cleared his throat. “Close your eyes, love. We’ll be home soon and you can ring your mum. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Lainey leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, hoping he was right.

 

Paul led Lainey up the stairs and into the third floor flat, pointing to an end table with a squat black rotary dial telephone sitting on it. “Shall we ring your mum?” he suggested.

Lainey stared at the telephone. Who could she call with that? Her teenage grandmother in Virginia? It was a possibility, she supposed. Grandma Marie would never believe her though. She was far too practical. Lainey needed to be alone for a few seconds and check her iPhone. “Could I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, sure. Ring, show her to the loo, would ya?”

 

Lainey leaned against the bathroom door and dug for her phone. No bars. Of course not. What did she expect? She tapped her mother’s picture and waited. Nothing. Tucking the phone back inside her purse, she rubbed her hands over her face and tried to think. It was already getting dark, and there wasn’t much she could do tonight. If the spell didn’t wear off by tomorrow, she’d get herself back to Abbey Road and look for the little gypsy woman. All she had to do was keep her mouth closed and ask the Beatles if she could surf on their couch for the evening. At that thought, Lainey gave a little hysterical laugh. No one would ever believe this.

Ringo was waiting for her outside the bathroom, a lit cigarette in one hand. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. No doubt he’d heard her laughing like a maniac. “All right?”

“You betcha.” Lainey walked down the hall with her head held high.

Four pairs of eyes watched her walk into the living room. George was sitting on the sofa playing the guitar, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The others were standing in the doorway having a low conversation, no doubt about her. She plopped down on the sofa close to George, taking the opportunity to really study him. It was like seeing a teenage boy version of her mother.

George glanced up, his fingers stuttering on the guitar. Lainey tried to ratchet down the intensity of her expression. She was probably freaking him completely out. She hugged her purse to her chest and smiled at him. “You’re going to be an awesome songwriter,” she said quietly.

George lifted a brow, but he didn’t respond.

“Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.” Lainey jerked a thumb toward the doorway. “It’s easy for them, they have each other. But you’ll show ‘em.”

George stopped playing. “Who ARE you?” he said around the cigarette.

“That’s what I’d like to know.” John strode across the room, a passport clenched in his hand. He began to read. “Elaine Louise Spencer, United States of America, date of birth 30 November…1992.”

Lainey snatched at the passport but John jerked his arm away and flipped a page. “It gets better. Date of entry in the UK, today’s date, 15 July…in the year two thousand and twelve.”

“Who are you, Homeland Security? Give it to me!” Lainey leaped from the couch, grappling with John. He held the passport over his head and fended her off with one elbow.

“John, cut it out. Just give it back to her.” Paul wedged himself between them, his back to John. “It’s probably a movie prop or summat. Right Lainey? Tell ‘im.”

Lainey searched his eyes. Of all of them, Paul seemed to be the one she could explain things to. She certainly couldn’t say anything else in front of all of them. Especially not Neil, who stood at the door glaring at her like he wouldn’t be happy until he’d ditched her at the nearest police station. She swallowed. “That’s right. I’m in a movie. Set in 2012.”

John smirked, but he didn’t protest when Paul snatched the passport and held it out to Lainey.

She shoved it into her purse and zipped it closed. Then she pressed her fingertips to her forehead. If only her head weren’t exploding on her shoulders, she could figure out how to get out of this situation without ending up in a hospital room or a jail cell.

"Are you going to call your mum or what?" George asked.

Lainey glanced at the rotary phone on the table beside her. "I can't call her on that phone. She's in Oxford. I don't know the number. And even if I did, that phone's not going to work."

No one said anything for a long moment. Finally Ringo shuffled over and picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear. "Works all right." He held the phone out to Lainey. "Give it a go."

Lainey crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

“Come ‘ead, love.” Paul took her hand and pulled her toward the hallway.

“Bad idea, Paul,” Neil called from the front door. “I’ll be back after I drop John home.”

“Suit yerself.” Paul stopped in the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and took Lainey by the hand again. At the end of the hallway he took her into a tiny bedroom and closed the door. He put the water in Lainey’s hand. “Drink.”

Lainey obediently downed half of the glass of water and handed it back.

Paul put the glass on the bedside table. “Does your head still hurt?”

That was a stupid question. She nodded, the effort making her slightly dizzy.

“Look in my eyes.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” She tilted her face up to his and met his beautiful dark eyes. Time travel could be a lot more stressful if she didn’t have this gorgeous man willing to babysit her.

Paul snickered. “You’re a funny bird.” He checked her eyes and then let his gaze travel over the rest of her face, lingering on her lips. “I’m usually good at reading people but you’ve thrown me for a loop.”

“That makes two of us. I’m as surprised as you are.”

He tilted his head and leaned toward her slightly, and she found herself staring at his mouth, wondering how he would kiss. Yes! That would break the spell. There was no way a penniless college student from Virginia in 2012 could go back in time fifty years and kiss one of the most famous men in the world without breaking all sorts of laws of physics and being zapped immediately back to the future. She leaned closer to him and let her eyes drift closed.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and opened her eyes to see him pulling away. He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head a little, as if to shake himself out of a trance. “Right. Why don’t you lie down for a bit and close your eyes. When your head is clear, we’ll sort this out.”

Lainey looked around the small room, at the nightstand with an ashtray and a small stack of books, the dresser holding a portable record player, the tiny closet stuffed with clothes. A pair of black heeled boots, just inside the closet door. An acoustic guitar lay across the foot of the bed beside a notebook. Lainey smiled to herself. If this was a dream, she had to hand it to herself for having a freaking great imagination. Her gaze fastened on the bed. "You want me to lie down here? In your bed?"

His eyes rolled briefly to the ceiling. "Let’s review. A wild haired bird in a skimpy night gown with bare legs appeared out of thin air, jumped in front of our car, bashed her head and started claiming to be from the 21st century. Lie down and relax while I sort out what to do with you. Let’s hope your memory returns after a kip."

Lainey glanced down at her modest dress. Modest by 2012 standards. "This is a sundress, not a night gown."

"It's certainly short enough." Paul’s eyes drifted to her legs. "Not that I'm complaining."

Lainey couldn't help smiling. "The swinging ‘60s haven't happened yet, have they?" She sat on the bed and pulled off her sandals. "God, you're going to love it here." She tucked her legs under her. "All my life I wished I could be in London in the psychedelic ‘60s."

Paul blew out a breath. "Right. Why don't you lie back like a good girl and rest your eyes, and when you feel like yourself again we'll sort you out.” He lifted the guitar from the bed and propped it against a wall.

Lainey crawled up to the single feather pillow and plumped it before lying down on her back. She stared at the ceiling. She was about to take a nap on Paul McCartney's bed. This was unfreakingbelievable.

"Budge up," Paul said.

"Do what?"

"Move over." He sat down on the bed and starting removing his shoes.

"You can't mean...what are you doing? Are you crazy?"

He threw his shoes toward the closet. "Keep your hair on. I'm not after your virtue. You've had a serious blow to the head. You need to be monitored."

"But there's only one pillow."

She rolled onto her side, watching in amazement as Paul McCartney stretched out on the bed beside her and settled his head on the pillow, his face inches from hers.

"If I didn't know how much it would hurt my head, I would be in hysterical laughter right now."

"And why is that?"

"Because I've been a fan of yours for ten years, and I've been in England for half a day and I'm in bed with a twenty year old version of you."

"Twenty-one. And you've been a fan of mine since I was eleven?"

They stared at each other silently for a moment. Lainey blew out a long breath. "This must seem so crazy to you."

Paul reached over and covered her eyes with his hand. "I want you to close your eyes, and when you wake up, no more crazy talk out of you."

As soon as he removed his hand, Lainey's eyes flew open. "I can't sleep with you staring at me like that."

Paul sighed and rolled onto his back, closing his eyes.

Lainey took the opportunity to study him. Long dark eyelashes, perfectly arched eyebrows, pale skin covered with dark stubble on his chin and jaw, full pouty lips. Impossibly handsome. And he'd been kind to her from the minute she opened her eyes to find him kneeling on the ground with her head in his lap. It would have been terrifying to wake up injured and alone in a foreign country without him running interference for her. She'd be in a hospital bed or a police station right now if not for him.

She rolled onto her back, her shoulders touching Paul's as they shared the same pillow. She flung an arm over her face and closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again she'd know what to do.


	3. She's Not There

Someone was breathing in Lainey’s face, and her head thrummed with a dull ache. She cracked open an eye to see Paul McCartney staring at her from eight inches away. She squeezed her eyes closed. “No,” she whispered. “You’re so not real.”

She felt him cup the back of her head, pressing none too gently on the tender spot at the base of her skull.

“Ow! Quit that!”

“Swelling’s gone down.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before lowering his hand. “I would’ve given you a frozen steak to help with the swelling but we’re fresh out.”

“Thank goodness for that.” She squinted her eyes at him. “So it wasn’t a dream.”

“What wasn’t a dream?” he said evenly.

“You. George. John Freaking Lennon. Oh. And Ringo. Can’t forget Ringo.”

“Hmm. So, you ready to talk?” He was turned toward her, one arm under his head. His hair looked mussed from sleeping. She wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. _Holy hell._ She had just woken up beside Paul McCartney, with his hair all sleep-ruffled.

She curled her hands into fists and focused on a spot on the wall just over his shoulder instead getting lost in his dreamboat eyes. “As long as it doesn’t make my head hurt worse.”

“We’ll start with an easy one. How do you know so much about us? We’ve done nothing in America, and hardly anyone in London knows who we are.”

His gaze flitted over her face, lingering on each of her features, as if he was thinking of drawing her later from memory. She licked her lips and noticed his gaze fall to her mouth.

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

He nodded. “Course you can. I’m a trustworthy bloke.”

“But I can hardly believe this myself. I don’t know how I can expect anyone else to.”

He pursed his lips, considering. “Let’s start from the beginning. Why were you outside EMI, and how do you know who the Beatles are?”

“Everyone on earth knows who you are in 2012.”

He arched a brow. “We’re still sticking with that story, are we?”

She groaned. “Paul. Have you ever had anything happen to you that was…let’s say…supernatural?”

Paul studied her face for a beat without speaking. “I’m going to need a ciggy for this.” He rolled to a sitting position and fumbled in the drawer of the night table. “You smoke?” he asked over his shoulder.

“God no.”

“Mind if I do?”

“It’s your funeral.”

Paul barked out a laugh. “Clever.”

“It’s an old joke.” She watched him tap out a cigarette and light it. “You don’t even know smoking is bad for you yet, do you?”

“Don’t be soft. Smoking isn’t bad for you. It relaxes you. Calms the nerves.” He settled back onto the pillow, blowing out a breath of smoke. “You asked if I’ve ever had anything supernatural happen to me?”

She nodded.

He examined the tip of his cigarette for a moment before answering. “I lost my mum when I was a kid, and I’ve had dreams, visions…whatever you call ‘em, where I could swear she was with me. So yeah, I suppose I have.”

“Maybe this is sort of like that. I know it’s connected to George. His picture is in this ring.” Lainey held up her hand in front of his face.

“Let me see that.” The cigarette dangled from his lips as he reached for her hand.

She pulled it away. “Don’t mess with it. I’m not going to be responsible for sending Paul McCartney back in time fifty years and breaking up the Beatles. God. I’m not Yoko.”

He squinted at her through a haze of smoke. “You are one strange bird.”

Lainey sighed. “It’s something to do with the ring, but I don’t know how it works, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to get back home. Maybe I have to go back to Abbey Road with a picture of my mother or something. But how am I going to get a picture of my mother off my phone? It’s not like you have Shutterfly in 1963.”

Paul listened patiently to her babbling before holding out his hand. “Let me see the ring.”

She balled her right hand into a fist and covered it with her left, clutching them both to her chest. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

He laughed. “You’re being daft.”

She shook her head. "No way."

“I promise I won’t touch it, just hold it up again.” He leaned over and dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and rolled back to the pillow.

Lainey lifted her hand in front of his face. He reached for her fingers, frowning at the ring. She held her breath. It was so intimate, lying next to him on the pillow, their heads touching, his fingers holding hers. She could smell the shampoo he’d used and the cigarette he’d just smoked.

Her heart started to jump around and she took a deep breath, trying to focus on the matter at hand. This was not the time to think about how Paul McCartney smelled or how his hair felt. If she didn’t figure out what was going on here, she could end up stranded in England in 1963 with no money, no friends, no family, no proof that she even existed.

“It’s a beetle,” Paul said.

“A Scarab,” Lainey corrected. “And there’s a letter S on the back of it, in ancient script or something.”

“How is this connected to George again?”

Lainey pulled her hand away. “His picture is inside it. I looked at it right before I went soaring through time and knocked myself out.” She frowned. “I don’t really know which part of that came first…”

“Did you put the picture of George in the ring? Did you come to EMI to meet him or summat?”

“No!” She rubbed her face. “I mean, yes, I came to Abbey Road because of George but I never in a million years would have expected to meet him because he…just because. I didn’t come there wearing this ring, an old gypsy woman read my palm and gave it to me.”

Paul sighed. “Lainey, come on. The truth.”

“That is the truth!”

“Get off. A gypsy read your palm? You must know how ridiculous that sounds.”

Lainey lifted herself on her elbows, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears. “I have no reason to lie to you. I didn’t ask you to bring me here. I’m only trying to get home.”

“All right, all right, don’t cry.” Paul smoothed a hand through her hair. “We’ll get it all sorted, don’t worry.”

She lay back on the pillow, sniffing. “I have to get back to Abbey Road right away, wearing this ring.”

Paul shook his head. “It’s gone dark. You’ll have to wait ’til the morn. We’ll get something to eat and you can stay here tonight and we’ll take you back to the studio tomorrow.”

“I’m not staying here tonight.”

“Well, you have to stay somewhere. You can’t go back to EMI tonight. Got any money?

“I have twelve British pounds and a Discover card.”

“Whatever that is, I don’t think it’s going to get you a room.”

“Probably not. Not in 1963, anyway.”

Paul’s voice was gentle. “So you can stay here, and I promise I’ll be a gentleman.” He smiled down at her. “Although you’re very pretty, and my mind has wandered a time or two looking at you in that night gown, I promise I won’t take advantage of a young lass on holiday with a head injury.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Lainey hadn’t heard another word he’d said after that.

“You’re very pretty.”

Oh my god. Paul Effing McCartney just called her pretty. Twice. Which only proved that she was hallucinating.

“There’s something familiar about you,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her. “I spotted it right off, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Maybe I remind you of George.”

His eyes fell briefly to her breasts and he grinned. “Trust me. You don’t.”

Lainey suddenly thought of something. “Did George ever talk about a girl in Liverpool named Marie? Marie Spencer?”

“Sure. I knew Marie. Pretty American girl, had a thing for George. She used to come to our shows, years ago.” He frowned, scrutinizing every feature of her face. “You do look a bit like her. Whatever happened to her?”

Lainey’s heart was beating so loudly she wondered if Paul could hear it. This was something her grandmother had never talked about, her life in Liverpool. “She moved back to America.”

“And you’re related to her.”

“Yes!” _Now they were getting somewhere._ She leaned forward, searching his eyes, pleading with him to get this, to believe her.

Paul frowned at her. “And she’s trying to get back together with George, so she sent you on this wild goose chase—“

“No! Geez, no.” Lainey threw herself back on the pillow again and scrubbed her hands roughly over her face. “You’ll never believe me.”

He casually rested a hand on her stomach, and her breath caught in her throat. “I am trying,” he said. “Tell me something about the future. Convince me.”

“How can I do that?”

He thought a minute. “We’re recording our next LP. If we’re so famous in 2012, name some of the songs.”

“What’s the name of the album?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

“Is it the _Please Please Me_ album?”

“No, that was released months ago.”

Lainey tapped her thumb against her bottom lip, trying to concentrate on something besides Paul McCartney’s hand, moving against the soft fabric of her dress. She studied his face. “So you’re starting to write more of your own music on the second one…I would say “She Loves You,” but maybe that was only a single…”All My Loving”?”

Paul’s eyes went wide. “How do you know that song?”

“Because it’s one of my favorite early Beatles songs.” Lainey began to sing, slightly off-key. “All my loving, I will give to you-ooo…All my loving, darling I’ll be—“

“Stop.” Paul placed his fingers over her lips. “Stop singing that.”

She pushed his hand away. “I know I’m no Rihanna, but you don’t have to—“

“We recorded “All My Loving” today. No one has heard that song but us and the studio engineers. I only wrote the bloody song a few weeks ago.”

“I love that song…”

“Who are you, Lainey Spencer? No more of this bollocks. It’s time for the truth.”

He looked angry. She needed him not angry. She needed him on her side, so the one they called Neil didn’t call the cops and have her hauled away.

He hovered over her, inches away. Acting on impulse, Lainey grabbed his face in her hands and pulled his mouth to hers. It was a sweet kiss, warm and tentative. But her hands had a mind of their own, sliding around his neck, holding him close.

He released her mouth, pulling away just enough to look into her eyes.

She blinked, trying to focus on his dark eyes. “Oh god, sorry! Sorry, that was weird, I—”

“I like weird,” he said, and captured her lips again with his. His lips were warm and soft, and Lainey felt her head spinning as he gathered her closer and moved past the mere brush of lips into a full-fledged kiss that had her blood pounding through her veins and her fingers curling into his hair and hanging on. Her real life in 2012 began to feel oddly dreamlike and distant.

She felt the tip of his tongue teasing her lips, gently parting them, then slowly moving inside her mouth to meet her tongue. Lainey felt like a top spinning. No wonder women lined up to date this man. He set a new standard in kissing. His hand moved up her side, pausing just below her breast.

She whimpered, and he lifted his head. “Lainey Love. This is the sort of kissing that leads to lots of energetic sex. Is that what you’re after?”

“Oh god.” Lainey lowered a hand to her chest, wondering if she was too young for her heart to explode. “This is crazy.”

He rolled away, and she sat up, running a shaky hand through her hair. “Oh god. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I know you have a girlfriend, and—”

“What? How do you know I…” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I just freaked out for a minute thinking what it would be like to be here all alone, and I need you on my side…”

“I am on your side, love.” He pulled her hand away from her face, brushing his lips lightly across her palm. “But you can kiss me all night long if it’ll make you feel better.”

He sat up and smiled at her, still holding her hand, the hand wearing the ring, which made Lainey forget all about the kiss. It took all her willpower not to jerk her hand away. Paul shouldn’t be touching the ring when she didn’t know quite how it worked, how it sent her back in time. She carefully pulled her right hand out of his and replaced it with her left.

His smile faded. “Look, Lainey, I want to help you, love, I do.”

She squeezed his hand, nodding. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I’ll take you back to the studio in the morning, but I want you to promise me that if for some reason you’re still…homeless…here in 1963…at the end of the day, I want you to come find me. I don’t want you roaming the streets thinking you’re from the future or something.”

“You still don’t believe me.”

“No, no, it isn’t that. But…let’s keep the whole time travel thing just between us, all right?”

“No duh, Captain Obvious.”

“What?”

She sighed. “I’m not going to tell anyone else.”

He dropped her hand and stretched, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He found her sandals and handed them to her. "How about we get summat to eat, maybe come back and watch a little telly?"

Lainey smiled shakily, her heart rate slowly returning to something like normal as she slid her feet into her sandals. "Sure. Got any video games? Ever played Beatles Rock Band?"

He reached for his shoes, ignoring her. “Then first thing tomorrow we can—”

Paul’s voice suddenly blared from inside Lainey’s handbag at the bottom of the bed.

_“You say goodbye, and I say hello…hello hello…I don’t know why you say goodbye I say hello…”_

Lainey lunged for the bag, frantically digging for her phone.

“Who is that singing? What is that song? Who the fuck is that?” Paul crawled across the bed, reaching Lainey just as she pulled out the phone and stared at her mother’s face on the screen.

“Mom?” she cried, all thumbs as she tried to answer the call, almost dropping the phone.

Suddenly she was spinning through space, and the last thing she heard was Paul yelling her name.


	4. I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night

A horn blared and Lainey whirled around to see a black sedan bearing down on her. She was yanked backwards onto the curb, groping behind her for the lamppost that she somehow knew was there. A middle aged man had her by the arm, keeping her from tumbling onto the sidewalk.

“Mind where you’re going,” he said with a frown, before continuing on his way.

Somehow Lainey still clutched her phone, and Paul was still singing his heart out. Lainey punched her mother’s picture. “Mom?”

“Hi honey, just making sure you made it into the city.”

“Mom! Oh my god, the craziest thing just happened—” Lainey broke off, making a complete turn in the middle of the sidewalk as she realized her purse was gone. And with it her passport, her wallet, her identification, all her tube passes… _Shit._ Alone in London with nothing but her phone.

“Are you okay, hon? What’s wrong?”

“Um, everything? I almost got hit by a freaking bus, for one.”

“Elaine Louise. I told you about looking the wrong way before you cross the street in London. Your head naturally goes the wrong way, and you—“

“Mom! There’s a bigger issue right now. My purse is gone.”

“Were you mugged?” Her mother sounded frantic.

“No, nothing like that! I think I left it…on the tube. Yeah, that’s it.”

“For heaven’s sake Lainey, go back to the station and ask if they have a Lost and Found.”

“I already did,” Lainey lied, rubbing the back of her head. “They don’t have it.”

There was a long sigh, and then Lainey listened patiently as her mother told her she never should have gone into the city alone and now everyone was inconvenienced and Matt would have to take the train all the way from Oxford to rescue her.

“Thanks Mom, love you,” Lainey said as they rang off. She wondered if her mother would be less angry or more angry if she knew Lainey had a head injury and had hallucinated herself into bed with a Beatle. A Beatle with soft warm lips and a comforting voice and eyes that she could get lost in. Part of her wished the phone had never rung, that she was still back there, having dinner with Paul, falling asleep in his bed… _what?_

The whole experience was insane. She stared down at her phone. Not more than ten minutes had passed since she’d written George’s name on the wall in front of Abbey Road studios. She could still see it from where she was standing. The American girl who’d handed her the pen was still there, laughing with friends as they posed for photos with their cell phones. In Lainey’s mind she’d spent hours in 1963, and she’d come back to 2012 in the same instant she’d left.

She moved out of the pedestrian traffic and leaned against a nearby stone wall. Her hand shook as she stared at the scarab ring. Had it been an aberration, brought about by hitting her head, or was time travel something she could do at will with this ring on her finger?

Her head was spinning. She had just kissed a living, breathing, very warm blooded, drop dead sexy 21-year-old Paul McCartney not twenty minutes ago. He still had her purse.

Maybe she should leave a message for him on the wall. Ha! That was it, they could communicate with each other by writing messages on the wall in front of his studio.

She looked up and down the street, making sure the little gypsy woman wasn’t still larking about. Satisfied that she was nowhere to be found, Lainey typed in the passcode on her phone and pressed her Grandma Marie’s contact picture.

“Lainey? Hi, honey, I was just thinking about you. Your mom says you made it safely across the pond.”

“Grandma. I wish you could’ve come.” Already Lainey felt her pulse slowing down at the sound of her grandmother’s soft voice.

“Maybe next time. So how is it? Raining, I’d wager.”

Lainey glanced up at the cloud covered sky. “Not yet. Grandma, I’m at Abbey Road. You wouldn’t believe it, how many people are here, writing on the wall, taking pictures, doing the crossing. Throngs of people.”

Her grandmother chuckled. “Oh, I believe it. Those boys were magical. Their music transcends time.”

Lainey caught the wistfulness in her grandmother’s voice, even from four thousand miles away. She would give anything to keep her talking.

“Grandma, I know you don’t like talking about him, but can I ask you something?”

“It isn’t that I mind talking about it, honey, it was just so long ago, what’s the point?”

Lainey felt her eyes start to water. “All my life I’ve dreamed of being here, and the only thing I really wanted to see was this studio, and now that I’m here, it still doesn’t tell me anything about who he was. I guess it was some sort of pilgrimage, but now that I’m here, I’m just sad.”

She heard a long sigh and felt a twinge of guilt for pressing her grandmother to talk about the past.

“What do you want to know, honey?”

“What was he like?” Lainey slid down to the ground, tucking her legs underneath her and resting her back against the wall, the phone pressed to her ear and her heart pounding as her grandmother began to talk.

“He was a lovely boy, but so young. We were just teenagers. He was obsessed with that darn guitar. He’d listen to a record and play a phrase of music for days until he got it right. He was the baby in a big Irish Catholic family. They all doted on him.”

“You knew his family?”

“Oh, of course. His parents were quite short and very Liverpudlian. His mom Louise…your great grandmother! She was a live wire. Very musical. People knew her for her loud singing voice. She would startle you, rattle the windows with that voice.”

Lainey made an encouraging sound and held her breath. She couldn’t believe her grandmother was talking about this. Maybe the distance and the telephone somehow made it easier. Or maybe Lainey had never come right out and asked the right questions before.

“She used to listen to _Radio India_ every Sunday. Especially when she was pregnant with George. She thought the exotic music would bring peace and calm to the baby. It used to make me laugh in the late ‘60s when people thought George was so creative with the sitars and the tablas. Why, he’d grown up listening to Indian music all his life!”

“That’s so cool, Grandma. I’ve always wanted to know about his family.”

“Louise wanted nothing more than for her children to be happy, and she saw early on that nothing made George quite as happy as making music.” 

“Was he shy?” Lainey asked, thinking of the way George had looked at her as if she frightened him.

“I wouldn’t say shy, but he was rather introverted. And anyway, it wasn’t like anyone could get a word in with those other two, Paul and John. George would keep his mouth closed and watch and listen and then come out with a zinger that would have you holding your sides laughing.

“So you knew the others? Paul and John and Ringo?”

“Well I knew them all, of course, before Ringo. John and Paul and Stu and Pete. I remember once they didn’t have microphone stands and I stood with Cyn and Paul’s girl Dot in front of the stage, holding up a broomstick with a microphone attached to the end. We held those broomsticks for the whole show. Then we went out to eat, two orders of fish and chips that we all shared because no one had any money. We girls weren’t allowed to talk. We had to be quiet while the boys talked music. Then George would walk me home and kiss me goodnight at the door. Lands alive, he was the best kisser…”

Lainey chuckled. “I can only imagine.”

“Well. That’s enough of that talk.”

“Wait, Grandma…tell me about the others. What were they like?” She held her breath, hoping her grandmother would keep talking.

“John was a dear soul. I was devastated by what happened to him. He had a chip on his shoulder from missing his parents, a very rough exterior, but a real softie inside. A true artist, sensitive. Paul was the opposite, I used to think.”

Lainey’s ears perked up. “What do you mean?”

“Paul could seem so sweet, with that choirboy face and that silky voice and that natural charm of his, but he was tough as nails. He always got what he wanted, with the other three, with girls, naturally, and even with their manager. Paul would come up with an idea that was the opposite of what anyone else wanted, and in five minutes he’d have you seeing things from his side and thinking it was your idea in the first place. A master manipulator, that one.”

Lainey hummed a response. “Maybe that’s how he got to be so successful.”

“Oh, he was the ambition behind them. They all wanted success, but Paul was driven like no one I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you like him?”

“Paul? Oh of course I liked Paul. You couldn’t not like Paul. He lit up the room. He’d fix you in his sights with those big puppy dog eyes and you’d feel like you were the only person in the room. And he knew exactly the effect he had on the ladies, believe you me. I remember riding on the top of a double decker bus with them, and the girls on the street would be waving and calling ‘hi Paul!’ and he’d nod and toss them a flirty wave and say ‘hi girls’ like he thought he was some sort of teen-age Elvis Presley.”

Lainey smiled to herself, one eye on the crowds walking in front of her, one ear listening to every word her grandmother spoke, but her head was fifty years in the past. Or thirty minutes in the past, however you looked at it. “Wow. You’re so lucky, Grandma.”

Her grandmother made a scoffing sound. “Well, I don’t know about that. Your grandfather caused me a lot of heartache. But I got your mother out of it, and you and your brother, so I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Would you really not change a thing, Grandma? If you could go back, is there anything you’d want George to know?”

There was a long pause. Lainey waited, chewing a nail.

“I’d tell George that I loved him and forgave him and that everything works out for the best. And I’d tell him to stop smoking like a chimney.”

“Really. They do smoke a lot—“ Lainey coughed. “I mean, they did. I’ve watched videos.” She blabbered on, trying to correct her slip. “And John. Too bad someone didn’t warn him about Yoko.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It seemed like Yoko was the love of his life. I suppose that was his fate, to live fast and die a legend.”

For the second time in the phone call Lainey’s eyes grew moist. That larger than life young man she’d met today, who’d challenged her and confronted her and glared at her, had only seventeen years left to live. He would be gone long before Lainey was born.

“That’s enough of living in the past, honey. You’ve seen Abbey Road, now forget all that. Go see Buckingham Palace, send me a photo of you and your brother with a Beefeater, ride one of those big red buses and listen to some modern music.”

They ended the call, and Lainey slumped against the wall, her eyes on the ring on her right hand, lost in thought. Maybe there was a reason she’d been able to go back to 1963. And just maybe she could do it again.

Long before her brother found her sitting on the ground in front of the studio, Lainey had made up her mind. It would take some work, but first thing tomorrow she would search the internet for a local shop selling old British money. She’d seen piles of pre decimal coins and bank notes on eBay selling for practically nothing, since they were worthless after Britain changed to the decimal system in the 1970s.

When she got what she needed, she would come back to Abbey Road at the same time tomorrow and look for the little old gypsy lady. But with or without her, Lainey was going back. Back to 1963, to give a message to George, a message to John, and to retrieve her purse. And with any luck, maybe she’d stay there long enough to bask in the glow of a certain young man with expressive dark eyes and the ambition of a Napoleon and the soul of a poet and the softest lips she’d ever kissed.


	5. I'm A Believer

 

Just around the corner from Abbey Road Studios the next morning, Lainey made sure no one was looking before ducking into a red phone booth that reeked of urine. The phone inside was out of order and probably teeming with germs. How had people ever used these things? Lainey stood in the very center of the small space, trying not to rub up against anything. She tightened the straps of her backpack, which rested heavily against her spine. It held her toiletries, a few cosmetics, a nightgown, a few changes of underwear, a casual packable dress and a huge plastic bag full of old British coins. Right now, she only hoped the backpack made the journey with her.

She tucked her iPhone into her bra to make sure the phone stayed with her. As far as she knew, it was her ticket home. Then she smoothed a hand over her dress, a simple sleeveless white shift in a diaphanous material. With sandals on her feet she probably looked more 1970s hippie chick than early 1960s London girl, but it was one of the better options in her suitcase. She’d packed mostly jeans and tops and sleeveless dresses that wouldn’t wrinkle, which meant they were made of the sort of material that clung to every curve. This one would have to do until she got to 1963 and found some nice June Cleaver dresses.

When Lainey was sure nobody was paying any attention to her—who but tourists and drunks with full bladders paid any heed to a telephone booth in 2012 anyway?—she began trying to replicate what she had done yesterday to zap herself back to 1963. She took off the scarab ring, spun the locket around to the S and back to the front, placed it on her finger and pried open the locket. She’d been looking at George’s face for less than two seconds when the spinning sensation began. Lainey clutched one hand to her chest to keep the iPhone secured to her body and gripped the straps of the backpack with the other. There was a rushing sound that grew so loud she nearly clapped her hands over her ears. Instead she squeezed her eyes closed and fought to keep her balance.

It was all over in an instant, and Lainey cautiously opened her eyes, surprised to find herself still in a phone booth, looking at an old black rotary dial phone and a huge London telephone directory attached to a chain. The urine smell was gone, and there was a square of Oriental carpet underneath her feet. There was even a tiny vase of orange plastic flowers resting on a small shelf, which made her smile. She liked these quaint British folk from the 1960s. And it appeared her iPhone had made the journey, and her backpack was still safely attached to her body.

Lainey looked outside the phone booth and her smile vanished. The scenery looked nothing like the street she had just left. She hoped she could find her way back to Abbey Road without the aid of her iPhone. She removed her phone from her bra, straightened her shoulders and forged ahead. Maybe she’d just have to buy a guide book of London or a big map. People must have coped somehow before Google Maps.

The street was only two lanes now, and it took her a moment to get her bearings. At the corner she realized she was indeed close to the future Abbey Road Studios, but the roundabout didn’t exist yet and the zebra crossing was yards away from where it was in 2012. There was only scattered traffic on Abbey Road and the sidewalks were virtually empty. She felt like she was miles from the city, in a genteel park-like area of mansions.

Lainey marched through the gates, up the steps and into the EMI Studios reception area without being challenged. That would soon change, thanks to George Harrison and his merry band of brothers from Liverpool.

A pretty blonde receptionist turned from her typewriter and eyed Lainey from head to toe before arranging her features into a polite smile. “May I help you?”

“Hi. I’m looking for one of the Beatles, Paul McCartney? I think they’re recording again today.”

The receptionist arched a brow. “Have you an appointment?”

“No…I sort of just…ended up in the neighborhood.”

“I’m afraid it’s against our policy to interrupt our artistes while they’re in a session.”

Lainey adjusted the straps of the backpack. “Do you think I could leave him a note?”

“I suppose,” the receptionist said, frowning. “But I can’t guarantee he’ll see it.”

“Um…I’ve lost my purse. Would you happen to have a pen and paper?”

After a small sigh, the woman supplied a pen and a pad of paper, and Lainey jotted a quick note.

_“Hi, it’s Lainey from last night. Would you happen to still have my purse?”_

She tore off the page, folded it twice, scribbled Paul’s name across the front, and handed it to the receptionist. Then she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as the woman opened the note, read it, and looked up with a disapproving frown. “You may sit over there,” she said, pointing a manicured fingertip to a bench along one wall.

Lainey took a seat, gratefully shedding the heavy backpack. The receptionist picked up the telephone and turned her back, mumbling into the receiver for a few seconds and replacing it. Without another word, she resumed her typing while Lainey stared around the lobby at the plush carpeting on the floor, the austere wooden furniture, the walls lined with framed records of artists she’d never even heard of. She’d like to teleport herself back to 2012 right this minute and take a gander at all the Beatles gold records these walls would soon hold.

"You again?" An unsmiling Neil stood in the doorway.

"Hi. Neil, is it? I believe I left something behind in the apartment…er…the flat.”

The receptionist gave Lainey another once over before turning back to her typewriter.

Neil nodded. "Come 'ead."

He led her down a long hall of closed doors and into a canteen, where he indicated for her to sit at a table not far from the door. Without asking, he poured a steaming mug of tea and placed it in front of her.

"You'll wait here," he said, and disappeared into the hallway.

All righty then. Friendly chap, that Neil. Lainey examined her phone, checked that it was powered off, and placed it face down on the table. She crossed her legs and then uncrossed them, practically wriggling with anticipation at the thought of seeing Paul again. She wondered what he would have to say about her vanishing in front of his eyes last night. At least he'd believe her now. Something supernatural was definitely at play and he had seen it with his own eyes.

She looked up sharply as the chair next to her scraped across the wooden floor. Paul dropped her pink leather cross body bag on the table and sat down, scooting the chair so close to her that his knee was pressed against her thigh. He leaned closer still, his eyes making immediate and inquisitive contact.

“Lainey. You're looking fit, and all in one piece. Have a nice trip?”

She reached for her bag and pulled it into her lap, fighting the urge to push her chair away and gain some equilibrium. It felt not only like he was invading her space, but that he could read her thoughts with those deep soulful eyes that never wavered from her face. She remembered what her grandmother had said and wondered if Paul was aware that most any woman on the planet was his for the asking. If not now, very soon. “It was just super. I managed not to get hit by one of your double decker buses, so it was a good day.”

He smiled with a tilt of his head. “You sure know how to leave an impression.” He rapped twice on the table. “Always leave ‘em wanting more, first rule of show business.”

Lainey tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure whether or not to laugh. Being this close to him sent adrenaline zigzagging through her, and it took all her wits not to simply stare at him with an idiotic smile on her face. “Thanks for bringing my purse."

“I reckoned you’d need your passport.” He rested an elbow on the table, his chin in his palm, eyes completely focused on her face. His other hand rested on his knee, which meant his fingertips brushed her thigh. Every time she blinked away from his piercing eyes she found herself staring at that hand, wondering how it would feel on her bare skin. She shook her head slightly, trying to focus on what he was saying in that lovely lilting northern accent.

“And your lipstick, your Ray-bans, your book of Christmas stamps from 2011, three of them missing…” He shifted slightly, so that now both knees were pressing against her leg. “…your driving license, which expires in August of 2012, your Commonwealth of Virginia proof of insurance, also set to expire, if my calculations are correct, and your train passes which were purchased on 15 July 2012.”

“Did you have fun going through all my personal belongings?”

He snapped his fingers loudly and pointed at her. “I nearly forgot. Your exclusive free Angel Panty from Veronica’s Secret expires on the 28th of July, 2012, and judging from the photograph on the advert, you really should snap that one up.”

“Victoria’s Secret, not Veronica.”

"There were sequins on those knickers in the shape of wings, and that model's bum was..." He reached out a hand. "Can I see that advert again?"

"I think you've seen enough." Lainey straightened and crossed her legs so that his knee was no longer pressed against her and possibly she could think clearly. She unsnapped her handbag and peered inside. “Thanks for pawing through all my things.”

He patted his shirt pocket before whipping out an index card. “Oh, and there’s this. My dot richmond dot edu, elspencer, password lainey14, verizon dot com, password—“

“Ssh! Give me that!” Lainey snatched the card away. “You don’t shout out passwords like that, are you trying to get my identity stolen?”

“What is all that? It’s like a foreign language, hieroglyphics.” He gestured at the card as she tucked it safely into her purse.

“It’s my life, Paul. You try memorizing twenty different passwords.”

“Passwords to what? What are you, some sort of secret agent?”

Lainey squeezed her handbag to her chest. “You know what, you live in a much simpler age.”

“But what I was really looking for was this.” Paul shot out a hand and snatched up her phone. “This is the device you use to time travel.”

Lainey almost laughed. “It’s not. It’s just a regular iPhone. But don’t turn it on.”

Paul examined the phone from every angle. He rubbed a thumb over the lens on the back. “What’s this?” he asked, leaning his head close to hers.

“It’s the camera.”

His eyes shot up. “Pull the other one.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Show me how it works.”

She shook her head. “I could get a phone call and end up back in 2012.”

“It’s a telephone and a camera and a time travel device all at once? You’re like a female James Bond. I think I’ll call you Miss Moneypenny.” He held the phone to his face, examining his reflection in the screen. “Covered with fingerprints."

“It's also a music player, a video player, a personal library, a computer…”

He arched a brow. “You're winding me up, aren't you? A computer would likely fill this entire room.” He flipped the phone over. “Why is there an apple on it?”

Lainey gave a little laugh. “Apparently the founder of the company was a huge Beatles fan.”

“You’re having me on.”

Lainey reached out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Lemme have it.”

He handed over her phone, and she dropped it into her purse.

Paul blew out a breath. "I didn't sleep a wink last night. You?”

Lainey shook her head no. He slouched back in the chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, and Lainey took the opportunity to study him. He wore slim fitting dark grey trousers and slightly scuffed, heeled Beatles boots were on his feet. A white shirt with the sleeves rolled up revealed darkly haired forearms. His hair was both shiny and disheveled, and she could see where he'd missed a spot shaving his chin. Even slightly unkempt for a day in the studio, everything about him communicated poise and self-assurance. He was someone who was born to be at the center of things.

A handful of both men and women had passed through the canteen while they were talking, and every eye had been drawn to Paul. That was the sort of presence he had. A natural charisma. It was almost breathtaking seeing it at close range. He was the center of attention without even trying.

He smiled at her and she blinked, realizing he'd caught her staring. “So, Lainey Love. How long you think you’ll stick around this time, in this simpler age?”

“I’m not sure. I needed my purse back. But I started wondering last night if I could come back again, and if so, is there a reason?”

“Mmm. So you chose to come back this time? You can make it happen at will?”

“Yes, it’s the ring.”

“What do you think the reason could be?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I should give a message to George. And John. Definitely John.”

Paul lifted a brow. “What about Ringo?”

“No. Ringo’s good.”

He tapped a finger to his chest. “What about me? What’s my message?”

She shrugged. “You’re good. Safe and happy in 2012.”

He looked at her for a long beat, his eyes narrowing. “But John and George aren’t.”

Lainey chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know how much I should tell you. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

They were silently regarding each other when Neil appeared in the doorway. There he was again, always itching to spoil her Paul party. “Ready, Macca?”

“Half a mo.” Paul looked back at Lainey. “I have to work. You’ll stick around, won’t you? I’m not nearly finished with you.”

The words sent a flood of warmth rushing through her. She wondered if he knew how suggestive that sounded? Of course he did. She swallowed, willing herself not to react. “I was going to do a little shopping and then look for a place to stay the night and I was hoping to talk to George sometime...”

"Try the Collonade, in Little Venice. It’s just round the corner." He stood, rapping the table again. "George is busy. But I'll find you. Say around six, for dinner?"

Lainey nodded. “Okay."

He stood, looking down at her thoughtfully. “Neil isn’t doing anything. He can drive you.”

She watched him saunter away, not looking back. _Oh my god_. Had she just accepted a dinner date with Paul McCartney?

 

 


	6. Dream Until Your Dreams Come True

Neil was pleasant enough on the short drive to the hotel, although he didn’t say much beyond asking Lainey where she was from and how long she intended to stay.

The hotel was a charming Victorian building in a quiet neighborhood. Lainey walked straight to the front desk to ask about availability. The clerk asked her name, nodded and pulled an index card out of a wooden box. “Miss Spencer, we have your reservation, for two nights, is it? I’ll need you to fill in your home address if you would please.”

Lainey stared at her name printed on the card he’d handed her. Someone…Neil…or Paul…had already made a reservation for her? “How much is the room?” she asked. This lovely place might be a little too swanky for her to afford with her bag full of coins.

“It’s already been taken care of, Miss Spencer.”

_What??_

The clerk handed her a pen. Lainey filled in her address in Virginia, not sure how she felt about Paul paying for her room and wondering what he expected in return. She’d have to settle up with him later. _In coins._

“Room 32, third floor, the lift is just behind and to your left.”

 

The room was tiny, but it had a wonderfully high ceiling and a four poster bed which gave it the feeling of opulence. It looked out over a courtyard with outdoor tables and colorful umbrellas.

She had hours to kill before dinner and decided to check out some of the shops she’d noticed on the way to the hotel. In a wonderfully fragrant and oh-so-British shop that sold only bath products, she picked up a bottle of rose scented bubble bath. At a newsagent’s shop she browsed the new books section and purchased a paperback copy of _The Spy Who Loved Me_ and a postcard of Piccadilly Circus to use as a bookmark. On the way back to the hotel she grabbed a cinnamon scone and a paper cup of tea. Under a yellow umbrella in the hotel courtyard, she settled in to read her book and enjoy the pleasant weather.

People-watching proved to be even more interesting than James Bond, so Lainey donned her sunglasses and observed the scene on the street. All the men wore dark suits and ties, many of them sporting classic bowler hats and holding black umbrellas at their sides. Ladies strolled by in short sleeved dresses with tight bodices that buttoned up the front and flared out to just below their knees, kitten heeled pumps on their feet, carrying shopping bags and leather pocketbook purses with short straps. Little girls wore miniature versions of their mothers’ dresses, with little white socks and black patent leather Mary Janes. It was like watching a colorized episode of _Leave It To Beaver_ , if Mayfield also had uniformed au pairs pushing babies in prams with oversized wheels.

The sun came out and heated things up, and Lainey realized how tired she was after missing sleep the last two nights. She wandered up to her room and pulled back the covers of the four poster bed and was asleep in minutes.

She awoke disoriented, and it took several seconds to remember where she was, and _when_ she was. The wind up alarm clock next to the bed read 4:25. Lainey sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was in London, in 1963, in a hotel room that Paul McCartney had paid for, and he was picking her up for dinner. Could her life get any more strange?

After a bubble bath in the amazing tub, Lainey put on her only other dress, a sleeveless shift in a psychedelic pattern, slipped on her sandals, and applied the powder, mascara and lip gloss she’d brought with her. There was no hair dryer in the room, and she didn’t even know if they existed in 1963, so she toweled her long hair dry and fluffed it with her fingers, then pulled it up in a messy knot on top of her head.

She sat by the window, waiting for Paul to telephone, and began to think about how she would approach George. He already thought her strange, the way she’d stared at him and spoken to him as if she knew all sorts of personal details. She wanted desperately to tell him the things her grandmother had said, but how could she do that without lying about her relationship with the Marie he knew of as a young girl? Paul knew she wanted to talk to George. Maybe he would bring him to dinner tonight. George had seemed so standoffish, and Paul’s effervescent personality would break the ice.

There was a knock at the door, and Lainey glanced at the clock. It was 5:30, and Paul had told her he’d “find her” at 6:00. There was no peephole, but Lainey assumed it was the maid service. She opened the door wide, and there stood Paul McCartney, all dark shiny hair, big eyes, and sunny smile.

Butterflies did a tango in her stomach at the sight of him. He dazzled her, and she was momentarily speechless. She glanced over his shoulder, trying to regain her composure. “Did you bring George with you?” was the first thing she thought of to say.

His smile straightened. “No, I told you George is busy. Will I do?”

“Sorry, of course you will.”

He held up a brown paper sack. “We had sandwiches delivered to the studio. I thought we could go for a walk in the park while we have a chat.”

“Of course!” Lainey managed what she hoped was a calm smile. He was so startlingly pretty. He was going to take some getting used to. “Let me get my purse.”

Paul stood just inside the open door, watching Lainey’s every move. “I want to reimburse you for the room,” she said as she walked past him into the hallway.

“Not necessary,” he said.

“No, I didn’t expect you to pay for my room. I feel weird about it.”

“I insist. You’re my guest.”

“I am?”

“You are. I invited you to stay here in 1963 so we could chat, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but I brought money this time, and I—“

“Lainey. It’s already arranged. No need to discuss it any more.”

She closed her mouth. It seemed a little pushy of him, but apparently this was how men acted in London’s version of Mayberry.

In the slow moving, ancient lift, Paul leaned against one wall and looked at Lainey, his eyes making a leisurely trip down her body and back to her face. He let out a low whistle. “You’re killing me right now, Miss Moneypenny.”

“What?” she asked, wondering how many 1963 fashion rules she was breaking at the moment and if he was embarrassed to be seen with her.

He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Do you have to look so sexy all the bloody time?”

Lainey looked down at herself, surprised. Yes, the dress was clingy, but it was only a few inches above her knee. “Is this…am I going to stand out?”

The lift stopped at the ground floor, and he moved to hold the door open for her. “Well most birds don’t walk around without stockings, but you’re not going to hear me complaining.”

“In July?” Lainey gave him an incredulous look. “Paul, I don’t even own a pair of stockings.”

“Why don’t we take a trip back upstairs and grab your little time machine device and have dinner in 2012 instead? I think I would like it there.”

She smiled. “You do like it there, from what I can see. You seem quite happy and pleased with yourself.”

They crossed the lobby and stepped out into the sun. Paul paused beside a blue plaque on the outside of the hotel. “Alan Turing was born here, fifty years ago. Well, one hundred years ago for you. Do you know who he was?”

Lainey tried to place the name. “A mathematician?”

“He was a founder of computer science. Studied artificial intelligence. I thought you would know that, considering how you believe that little screen you carry around is some sort of computer.”

At the street corner Paul shifted the paper bag and took Lainey’s arm to cross the street. His guitar-calloused fingers were warm and rough on her bare skin. Lainey tried to concentrate on not tripping over her feet instead of the feel of his hand on her arm.

Paul was asking about her day, and she mentally shook herself. Her visit here would be very brief and would likely be a precious memory, but it wasn’t like she would ever see Paul again after this. It was ridiculous getting all worked up over this man. She told herself to relax and remember the reasons she had come back. Get her purse, talk to George, talk to John, and don’t do anything stupid along the way.

“It was great,” she answered him. “Did a little shopping, picked up the latest James Bond.”

His eyebrows went up. “Really? I’ve read most all of them, what do you think?”

She shrugged. “I keep comparing it with the movie. Roger Moore was so hot. And funny.”

“You mean Sean Connery?”

“Nah, he’s only the first of many hot Scottish James Bonds. We’re up to at least five I think.”

When they reached the other sidewalk, he slid his hand down her arm and entwined his fingers with hers. “They make movies about all of them? What’s your favorite?”

Lainey smiled. “I don’t know, the music in _Live and Let Die_ is pretty killer.”

“Who would have thought they’d be watching James Bond films in 2012. And listening to Beatles music, if I'm to believe you.”

They walked along a canal lined with shops and cafes, and Paul led her into a market filled with stalls selling everything from food to clothes to little silver spoons with the Queen’s image on the handles.

Paul let go of Lainey’s hand and showed her what was in the bag he carried. “What sort of crisps should we pair with our Leibfraumilch?”

Lainey peered at the label. “Nice work, Sir. After drinking that, we won’t care what sort of crisps we have.”

They strolled through the stalls, selecting a large packet of crisps to share and two red apples. As they shopped, Paul paid her constant attention--nudging her with his shoulder, teasing her, making prolonged eye contact. This guy must have written the book on flirting. Too bad none of the boys Lainey knew in the future had read it.

When they crossed another street into a residential neighborhood, Paul took her hand again and didn't let go. Between the hand holding and the teasing eye contact, this was beginning to feel more and more like a date.

After a short walk they reached Primrose Hill, strolled to the top and sat in the grass with a lovely view of London in the distance.

“Turkey or ham?” Paul held up two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.

“Turkey.”

He handed Lainey two paper cups and pulled out a corkscrew and the bottle of wine. “Tell me everything.”

“Everything? That’s a pretty broad request.”

“About the future.”

“Still need to be a little more specific.”

Paul leaned over and filled the two paper cups with wine. He corked the bottle and propped it up beside them and took one of the cups from her. “To the future,” he said, tapping his cup to hers.

Lainey smiled. “To the past.”

“The song that I heard while you were…” he made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “…dissolving into a million sparkling fragments. What was that?”

"Is that what it looked like? I just...dissolved?"

"Yes. What was that song?"

“That was you. I don’t know when you wrote it, towards the end I think, the late 60s?”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Towards the end of what?”

Lainey frowned. How much should she tell him about the Beatles breaking up? “The end of the 60s. I like it, it’s happy. Most of your songs were… _are_ …happy. It’s my ringtone…um…the song that plays when my phone rings.”

"Every time your phone rings, you hear me singing? Why?"

Lainey felt a little sheepish. "I'm a big classic rock fan."

"What's classic rock?"

She took a sip of her wine and grinned at him. "You should know. You and John practically invented the genre. I mean, nearly every Beatles album contains at least one tune that, depending on how you feel that day, qualifies as the Greatest Rock Song Ever."

"How many albums do we make?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I don't feel comfortable telling you specific things. It will take the wonder out of your life. But believe me Paul, things are going to get wondrous."

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. Lainey took a bite of hers and stared at the city in the distance while Paul stared at her.

"What's your favorite Beatles song?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I love them all. Honestly.”

"Sing one I haven't written yet."

Lainey thought a moment. ”Beep beep, beep beep yeah..." she sang, laughing.

"What the hell is that? I didn't write that.”

"You did, it's one of my favorites."

He picked up his cup of wine. "Did George write it or something?"

Lainey laughed. "You wrote it. It's all you."

"Sing some more of it."

"Mmm. No. That would be cheating."

"How do you know I didn't write that song only because I met you in your past and you taught it to me?"

She giggled. "What?"

"Maybe we're in a sort of endless time loop."

"That makes my head hurt."

"Sing some more," Paul insisted.

Lainey took a deep breath. She was no singer. And she certainly never imagined she’d be auditioning a Beatles song for a Beatle. But, whatever.

 _“Baby you can drive my car_  
_Yes I'm gonna be a star_  
_Baby you can drive my car_  
_And maybe I love you_  
_Beep beep'm beep beep yeah!”_

"Sheisse. Please tell me it sounds better than that when I sing it."

"Shut up." She gave him a shove, sloshing his wine over his hand. “Did you just swear at me in German? I’m not singing any more for you. You'll just have to write your songs the hard way."

He drained his cup and wiped his hand on his trousers. "Or you could play them for me on your James Bond phone."

"That would be cheating." She held out her cup as Paul offered her more wine. "How do you write your songs anyway?"

"It's magic."

"Where do you get your inspiration?"

"I dunno, all over. Sometimes I see a pretty girl in a park and feel like singing about it." He began whistling a vaguely familiar tune and after a minute added words. "La la la la la la lovely Lainey..."

Lainey almost choked on her mouthful of wine. She pointed at him, a huge grin on her face. "You're so close. Keep that one in your back pocket for a few more years."

Two teenage girls had paused on the path a few yards away, looking at Paul and whispering. Paul gave them a nod and a smile. "Hello, girls," he said as they hesitantly approached.

The redhead spoke first. "Sorry, are you one of the Beatles?"

"Paul McCartney," he said, standing and holding out his hand.

The redhead shook his hand, her eyes huge. "Judith Flanders," she whispered.

The other girl, a slender blonde, clapped a hand over her mouth and looked as if she might swoon.

"Would you sign something for us?" Judith asked.

"Pleasure," Paul said.

The two girls frantically rummaged in their purses, finally coming up with a pen and a postcard and some sort of receipt. Paul signed his name for them and made small talk for a few minutes about when the band would be performing in London.

At a lull in the conversation, Paul noticed one of the girls casting surreptitious glances at Lainey. “This is my girlfriend, Lainey, from…she’s from the States.”

Lainey got to her feet, giving him a wide-eyed look before nodding at the girls. “Nice to meet you.”

Both girls gave her wistful looks before thanking Paul and walking back to the path.

“Your _girlfriend_?”

“I almost said ‘my girlfriend from the future.’ Caught myself just in time.”

“Yeah, but your _girlfriend_?” she repeated.

Paul smiled down at her. “Sorry. I should've checked with you first. Fancy being my girlfriend?”

Lainey stared back at him. Was he toying with her? She’d read articles about the legendary McCartney charm. He was a real knickers dropper, back in the day. And she could certainly see why. She had no idea what to say, so she decided to make light of it, giving him a small shove. “Don’t be silly.”

He captured her hand before she could pull away. “You can’t seem to keep your hands off me, so I take that as a yes.” He reached his other hand up to her shoulder, resting it on the back of her neck. “I like your hair up like this. Pretty face, lovely hair, great boobs and legs, good sense of humor…Mein Gott, you’re like the mother lode of girlfriends. I’m a lucky man.”

Lainey took a giant step back, letting his hands fall away. Her heart was beating an erratic rhythm. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a shaky smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

She thought she saw a faint look of disappointment cross Paul’s lovely features before he composed them into an expectant look. He was probably unaccustomed to girls saying no to him. “Pardon?”

“I’m sure you’re not serious, but don’t even joke about it. I mean, talk about your long distance relationships…” She gave an uncomfortable laugh.

He straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Lainey, I am deeply, deeply serious.”

She took another step back. This had to be a dream. Was Paul McCartney trying to make her the latest notch on his bedpost? She didn’t even know how to feel about that. Flattered? Frightened?

He saw the expression on her face and laughed. “Relax, Lainey love, I’ll give you a chance to…catch up.” He broke eye contact and looked down at their picnic. “Fancy an apple?” He bent over and grabbed the apples from the bag and tossed one to Lainey.

She caught the apple and started shining it on the front of her dress, grateful for something to do other than look at Paul, who was making her feel all heated inside. She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s hot today.”

Paul smiled. “Here, sit down with me. We haven’t even finished our wine.”

Lainey dropped to the grass, sighing. _The wine._ That explained it. They were both a little loopy. Any more of that wine and she could end up rolling around in bed with Paul McCartney in the hotel room he’d so graciously paid for. She needed to get it together. “No more for me, thanks.” She waved a hand over her cup.

“You sure?” Paul shrugged and poured the rest of the wine into his cup.

A small black and white collie veered over to them, and Paul reached out and ruffled the fur around its neck and made doggie baby talk “Who’s a good dog? Who’s a good boy?” until the owner whistled and the dog bounded away again.

Paul leaned back on his elbows, watching Lainey studiously crunching her apple as she tried not to look at him.

“So. Last night,” he began. “I was up all night trying to figure out what the fuck happened. One minute I was kissing you and making dinner plans, and the next you were sparkling into a million pieces of light and drifting up to the ceiling.” He shot his hands into the air, fingers spread. “Poof, she’s gone. And I wasn’t even high. Where did you go when you left my bedroom?”

“Back to 2012. Back to the same instant and the same spot I left.”

He scratched his jaw. “What do you mean? You didn’t lose any time while you were here?”

She shook her head. “No. I was right there on the street in front of Abbey Road Studios, about to get hit by a bus. My mom and brother didn’t even know I’d been gone.”

“Why do you call it Abbey Road? It’s called EMI.”

She smiled. “You’ll see.”

He looked thoughtful. “So you could spend weeks here, months even, and no one would miss you?”

Lainey swallowed. “I don’t know…that’s how it was, but it’s only happened once.”

“You must have been frightened.”

“Yeah, it’s completely crazy.” She was looking down at the apple in her lap when Paul leaned over and kissed her, a sweet, warm press of his lips to hers.

“I’m glad you came back. I would’ve missed you if you hadn’t come back.”

She nodded, her head spinning. Paul’s face was only inches away, and he was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her again and again, kiss her drunk right here in front of all of London.

She brought her hands to her forehead. “This is sort of blowing my mind, actually. I keep wondering if I’m imagining all this.”

He leaned back. “It must be strange for you. I mean, you’re the one being shot through time….”

“It’s way beyond strange. As soon as I got back I called my grandmother…Marie…and I didn’t tell her what had happened, but I asked her about George—“

“Who you claim is your grandfather,” Paul interjected.

“Right. He _is_ my grandfather. And I asked her if she could go back in time was there anything she would want to say to George, after fifty years. We talked about George and John, and I decided I needed to come back.”

“Did you want to see me too?” Paul’s expression was carefully blank.

“Well…obviously,” Lainey admitted, looking back down at her lap. “I mean, I’ve liked you for years, and who wouldn’t want to see you?”

He nodded. “I have an idea.” He stood up, collecting the remains of their picnic and stuffing it back in the paper sack.

“What is it?”

He shrugged and held out a hand to Lainey. “I’ll tell you back at the hotel.”

On the way back to the hotel Paul took her through the market, pausing in front of a rack of jewelry. “Look at this.” He placed a gold brooch in her hand, a tiny locket that opened to reveal a row of miniature postcards of London attractions.

“How cool! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Paul gestured to the attendant. “We’ll have one of these lockets, please.”

“You don’t have to buy it for me!” Lainey whispered.

“Sshh. Don’t be rude. You’re a guest in my country.” He smiled at her. “And my century.”

She rubbed his arm. “Thank you, it’s beautiful. And probably worth a fortune when I get home.”

His smile straightened. “There’s no hurry, is there? To get back home?”

Lainey waited while he paid for the brooch, and when they were back on the street she looked up him. “Paul? We both know I’m not going to be here very long, right?”

For the first time in…ever…he didn’t meet her eyes. “We’ll talk about it at the hotel.”

 

Lainey hung back when they reached the courtyard of the hotel. If she let him walk her to her room, and they started kissing again, she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to resist Paul McCharming. She’d already had a crush on him for years, and he’d turned out to be even more irresistible in real life.

She had to keep telling herself that she didn’t belong here, she would be leaving very soon, and falling in love with twenty-one year old Paul McCartney on the cusp of international fame and superstardom was a fast train to heartbreak. It was madness, was what it was.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” She gestured to the outside tables. “Want to sit down a minute?”

Paul stood looking down at her. “Do you have a boyfriend in the future in 2012, Lainey Love? Someone pining away for you, waiting for you to come home?”

“Not really.” She’d been dating someone since high school, but it hadn’t been the same since he’d moved away to college, and shortly before Lainey left for London they’d talked about ‘taking a break.’ It felt like the magic had been gone from their relationship for a while now. She certainly didn’t get the head spinning feeling from kissing him that she got when 1963 Paul so much as batted his big brown eyes at her.

He tilted his head toward the door of the hotel. “I’ll walk you up.” He took her by the hand, pulling her through the lobby.

The ancient lift seemed to take forever. “This must be the oldest elevator in London.”

“It is actually.” Paul leaned back against the side of the lift, his hands on the rail, his eyes on Lainey.

She felt her cheeks flush under his gaze. She was about twenty seconds away from deciding whether or not to let Paul McCartney into her hotel room, and she still had no idea which way she was going to go.

She spun around to face him at the door to her room, the key clutched in her sweaty palm. “Thanks for inviting me on the picnic. It was fun. And the brooch, I love it.”

“Thank you for the pleasure of your company, love.” He rocked back on his heels, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Want to hear my idea?”

“Of course.”

“We're leaving at the arse crack of dawn for Weston-super-mare. It’s a seaside resort, a couple of hours west of London. We’ll be playing there for a week. Why don't you...pop in—“ He wiggled his fingers as if to illustrate how she seemed to move through space and time ”—take in a show or two. You'll have plenty of time for chatting up George and John. And me.”

Lainey brought her hand to her throat, certain her heart was about to pound out of her chest. “Hold on. Are you inviting me to a Beatles concert? A freaking early Beatles concert?”

“Early, late, both if you want. Two shows a night for five nights. Fancy coming along?”

“There is honestly nothing I would rather do in the whole of my life.” Lainey grinned up at him, hugging her arms to her chest to keep from throwing them around his neck.

Paul grinned back at her. “I’m chuffed to bits about how much you seem to like my band, my little future girl. I’m practically glowing inside with the idea of you liking me, in your future world.”

“I’ve always liked you,” Lainey admitted, breathless. “Can’t remember not liking you, actually.”

“And now it’s mutual. So what should we do about it?”

“I don’t know, wait to wake up and realize it’s all a dream?”

“I have a better idea.”

He took two steps toward her and his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers. She gasped, surprised, but soon fell into step with him, her arms sliding around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair.

He backed her against the door, his chest and lips pressed against her, kissing her hungrily, gripping her face like he was afraid she would disappear into thin air. He slid his tongue against her lips and she parted them, welcoming the warmth of a deeper kiss.

He tasted like sweet German wine and everything she’d been missing for the past twenty years. He tasted like the man who was going to break her heart into a million pieces when she had to leave him here in 1963. This was madness.

His hand slid down her arm and she made a little whimpering sound. He pulled his head back for an instant, letting her catch her breath, then dipped his head and kissed her breathless again. The room key slipped through her fingers, bouncing on the wooden floor behind them.

Paul pulled his mouth from hers, pressing his cheek against the side of her head, his hands leaving her and pressing against the door behind them. Lainey exhaled a long sigh.

He pulled back, gazing down at her with a look of wonder in his eyes. “Wow, Lainey love.” His voice sounded rough, making Lainey realize he was as affected by their kiss as she was.

All she could think about was kissing that mouth again. “Uh huh,” she said.

And then he was bending over, retrieving the key and unlocking her door, holding it open for her. “Shall we swing by and pick you up?”

“Um…what?”

“Weston-super-mare. In the morning.”

“Yes. Right. No.” She shook her head, trying to think clearly. “I’ll take the train. I’ll figure it out.”

“Promise you’ll be there?”

“Are you kidding me? Wild horses and my time traveling iPhone couldn’t keep me from seeing the Beatles in concert in 1963. I’ll be there.”

He smiled and placed another chaste kiss on her lips. “I’ll be waiting for you. Royal Pier Hotel. Just ask for Neil Aspinall. ‘Night Lainey Love.”

She was still watching him from the doorway when he turned at the lift and gave her a flirty little wave. “See you soon,” he called.

She closed the door of the hotel room and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor, her purse hugged to her chest. _Jesus, Mary and Joseph._ She shouldn’t be doing this. There was no way this could end well. He was going to be one of the richest, most famous people in the world. Everyone would want him, and very soon. But right now, for some crazy reason, he wanted her.

She dropped her face into her hands, grinning like a silly fan girl at a Beatles concert. If this was a fast train to heartbreak, she might as well buckle up and enjoy the ride.


	7. Gotta Be Rock n Roll Music

Lainey opened her eyes to soft London sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains of her hotel room. Anticipation flooded through her as she sat up in bed. Tonight, if this wasn’t all some sort of strange hallucinatory episode, she was going to see a Beatles concert. She had no idea how she was going to get to Weston-super-mare without the aid of the internet. How did people ever leave home in 1963? Maybe there would be a helpful soul at the front desk.

On her way to the bathroom, Lainey picked up an envelope that had been shoved underneath her door. Inside were instructions on how to get to the train station, what trains to take to get to Weston-super-mare, and a set of train passes. There was a note enclosed, signed by Neil, telling her to ask for him upon check in at the Royal Pier Hotel.

Lainey folded everything back into the envelope and stuffed it into her purse with a huge smile on her face. Paul certainly didn’t leave anything to chance when he wanted something. And poor Neil, was he on duty 24/7, running around, arranging everyone’s dates for them? No wonder he looked tense.

On the train, Lainey sat with her backpack beneath her feet and her handbag on her lap, wishing she dared to turn on her phone to take pictures. The scenery was breathtaking, and the inside of the train reminded her so much of silly scenes in the movie _A Hard Day’s Night_ that she had to stop herself from sitting there with an idiotic grin on her face for most of the trip.

A mother with two school aged children sat in the row of seats across from her, and when they brought out old-fashioned bottles of Coca-Cola and drank straight from the bottles, Lainey almost laughed out loud remembering John Lennon pretending to snort “Coke” in the movie.

The Royal Pier Hotel was only a short walk from the train station and Lainey made a side visit to a shop to pick up some necessities - shampoo, deodorant, a couple of flowered skirts and sleeveless tops, the cheapest ladies watch she could find and a package of lovely pink granny panties, the only ladies underwear available. The clerk didn’t blink an eye when Lainey paid for everything with her giant bag of coins.

The granny panties alone would guarantee she wasn’t going to let Paul see her undress, Lainey thought with a smile. Her virtue was safe now.

Neil retrieved her from the lobby with a flash of what could almost pass for a smile. Lainey supposed the sea air and sunshine had put even Neil in a good mood. He slung Lainey’s overstuffed backpack onto his shoulder and led her into the lift. “What have you got in here, a dead body?” he asked.

“Money,” Lainey replied. “Tons of it.”

On the third floor they walked down a narrow corridor, past an open doorway of a room where a party seemed to be going on. Music blared from behind several of the other closed doors, but over the melee Lainey heard a door opening behind them and a shrill whistle.

“Bring that girl and that rucksack in here, Neil!” Lainey spun around to see Paul smiling from a doorway midway down the hall. Neil continued walking, but Lainey was drawn to Paul as if by invisible strings tugging her toward his glowing face and trim, lithe body.

She paused in front of him, grinning back. “Hi. I made it.”

“You made it!” He was wearing snug dark jeans and a white T-shirt that was untucked and riding up his waist as lifted his arms over his head, gripping the doorframe. He stood there, rumpled and sexy and unshaven, beaming down at her.

“You can stay with me in my room, you know. You’re invited.”

 _Lord._ That was direct enough. He was laying it all out there, what he was after, just in case there was any doubt. Lainey took a step back. Granny panties, she reminded herself. No one was ever going to see her wearing those. As long as she didn’t wash the couple of pairs of thongs she’d arrived here with, she should be safe. “We should talk about that. I’m staying in my own room while I’m here.”

“That sounds lonely,” Paul said, still grinning.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not that kind of party. And I’m not that kind of girl.”

“What sort of party is it then? A party without fun?”

“I’m just here to see a Beatles concert,” Lainey said, hugging her handbag across her chest. Damn if he didn’t look entirely too sexy, with his bare feet and his arms overhead hanging onto the doorframe, displaying his lean torso and that little treasure trail of dark hair disappearing inside his jeans, no belt, with the top button popped open. _Jesus._

“Ah. After you see the Beatles in action you might change your mind though,” Paul suggested with an arch of a perfect eyebrow.

“Yeah, I might, but for which Beatle?” Lainey teased, stepping closer and punching him right in the stomach.

Paul grunted and caught her fist. “Since you still can’t seem to keep your hands off me, I’m guessing this one.” He pulled her into his room, kicking the door closed behind them.

“It takes a lot more than a rock concert to get me down to my panties, Paul the Beatle,” Lainey said, but she doubted her words had much impact since she couldn’t stop smiling.

Paul feigned shock. “Who said anything about your panties? I just want to play board games with you, maybe read to each other aloud from the Gideon’s Bible. What sort of a bloke do you think I am?” He closed the distance between them, backing her against the door.

“The sort of bloke who invites a girl he barely knows into his hotel room,” Lainey said, her voice sounding a little breathless.

“Should I be frightened, Lainey Love?” he asked, his lips growing closer to hers.

“Maybe. I could steal your underwear and your sheets make a small fortune on eBay.”

“Whatever it is you’re saying, I’m game.” She was thinking of a response when his mouth closed over hers, and her words vanished. His lips were soft and warm and he tasted like minty toothpaste and tobacco.

His hands were on the door on either side of Lainey’s head and only their lips were touching. Lainey curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for his waist and pulling him against her, which would be schizo after just telling him what a good girl she was.

Paul kissed her practically breathless and then pulled back, looking at her.

“Hello, girl from my future. I thought about you all night. And all morning. Then I kipped down a bit, and woke up thinking about you, and here you are. All in all a pretty good day, I’d say.”

Lainey closed her eyes with a sigh. She had no idea what kipping down meant, but man oh man, could he turn on the charm.

Paul’s lips met hers again, and there was a knocking sound directly behind Lainey’s head. Her eyes flew open as Paul drew away.

“Yeah?” he called out, his voice rough.

“Neil here.”

Paul reached around Lainey and cracked open the door, his eyes still focused on her mouth.

“Room 323,” Neil said, handing Paul a key through the crack in the door.

Paul tucked the key into the front pocket of his jeans. “Ta, Neil.”

“Thirty minutes,” Neil said as the door closed.

“Where were we?” Paul asked.

“Thirty minutes to what?” Lainey asked, adjusting her shoulder bag and sidestepping her way around Paul, willing her heart rate to return to normal. She walked across the room and pushed aside the heavy drapes. Paul’s room had a beautiful view of the beach at the bottom of the hill. If she could manage to get George alone, away from the huge distraction of his bandmate Paul, maybe they could walk down to the shore and Lainey could find a way to talk to him about the things her grandmother had said. And then she’d concentrate on John.

“We’re actually leaving soon for a sound check, since it’s our first day here, and we’ll be staying at the cinema until the second show is over. You’re welcome to come to everything—the sound check, one or both shows, whatever you’d like, Lainey love.”

Lainey turned around. “I’ll be backstage?”

“Course. You’re my guest.”

“What happens between the shows?”

“We’re usually rather busy with interviews, photographers and such. And someone usually brings in sandwiches.”

Lainey had slept late and rushed around to get here, and now that she was here she wouldn’t mind having a leisurely bubble bath and dressing up for the show with makeup and her hair looking halfway decent. She might even go downstairs and have a hot meal, something she hadn’t had since she’d been in 1963.

“I’ll be there for the second show,” Lainey decided.

“Playing hard to get, are we?” Paul crossed the room and stood smiling down at her, squinting in the sunlight Lainey had let pour into the room. For the first time she noticed his eyes were lighter than she’d realized. They looked almost golden in the bright sun. Even scruffy and rumpled from his nap, he was entirely too beautiful for words.

Lainey reached her hand up to his face, trailing her thumb across his jawline. “You need to shave.” Her eyes took in his messy head of dark hair. “And probably shower.”

“Thinking of getting close to me tonight, I see.” Paul wagged a finger at her. “Always thinking ahead, you are.”

Lainey brought both her hands to her forehead. This man. He was such a flirt. And totally coming on to her, distracting her from the reasons she was here in the first place. “What am I going to do with you, Paul the Beatle?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he said, grinning.

Lainey held out her hand. “My key?”

He made a little pout before digging into the front of his jeans and pulling out the key. “Room 323,” he said with a wink.

 

The dressing room of the Odeon was filled with people, many of them dressed in matching suits and tuning or strumming guitars. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke and an aura of excitement.

Paul sprinted to the doorway as soon as he saw Lainey come in with Neil, and he almost took her breath away. Standing there in his shiny grey collarless suit with the bright white shirt and snug trousers, the black heeled Beatles boots adding an inch or more to his height, the effect was nothing short of dazzling.

“You really are a Beatle,” Lainey said, grinning up at him.

“I am indeed,” Paul said, slinging an arm around Lainey’s shoulders. “Welcome to your first Beatles show. Let’s hope it’s the first of many.”

All Lainey could do was grin.

“Come ‘ead love, let’s get you a drink.” Paul walked her over to a group of people standing in front of a table full of snacks and bottles of Coca-Cola and whiskey.

Lainey found herself standing next to a very young Gerry Marsden of Gerry and the Pacemakers. “I know you!” she blurted out. “You’re from Liverpool too, aren’t you?”

Gerry stuck out his hand. “And who are you?”

“This is my girlfriend, Lainey,” Paul said.

“Your girlfriend?” John Lennon repeated. “Since when?”

“Since the second we met,” Paul said.

“And when was that?” Gerry asked.

Lainey was starting to feel like she was at a tennis match.

“Oh, man…” Paul looked down at her. “How long has it been now, babe? One, two days?”

Lainey tried not to laugh as she took Gerry’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Gerry looked puzzled. “Indeed. You’re American?” He raised his eyes to Paul. “How’d you pull that one off, mate?”

Paul shrugged. “What can I say, brother, she’s been a fan of mine for years.”

“Right…” John said, his eyes narrowing.

With his arm still draped over her shoulders, Paul wheeled Lainey away from the crowd. “Let’s get you situated over here and I’ll bring you a drink.”

Lainey perched on a leather sofa next to an acoustic guitar. There were at least two dozen people milling around the shared dressing room, and the noise level was high. She looked around for George and spotted him in a corner of the room on another sofa slumped over a guitar.

The door opened, letting in a wall of screams, and three blondes in matching black and white polka dot dresses rushed in. One of them made a beeline for George.

“Pacemakers, you’re up!” someone yelled from the doorway.

Paul was back, placing a drink in her hand.

“Scotch and Coke,” he told her. “You’ll like it.”

“I will?” Lainey asked doubtfully, swirling and sniffing the amber colored drink.

“Course you will,” Paul said with a wink. “After the third one you’ll love it.”

“Got any ice?” Lainey asked hopefully.

“Nah.” Paul shook his head. “Don’t need it.”

“Who’s the blonde?” Lainey asked, frowning in George’s direction.

Paul followed her gaze. “The Lana Sisters. One of the openers.” He moved the guitar to the end of the sofa and sat down next to her, their thighs touching.

Lainey took a sip of the drink. Not bad, if you like drinking tablespoons of caramel colored sugar with your alcohol. “How was the first show?”

“Great! Can’t believe you missed it.” He smiled sweetly. “Sort of glad, though. Got all my nerves out. Now I can play well for you.”

“You were nervous?”

Paul stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “Nervous playing for you, yes.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, maybe because you seem to think I’m some sort of a legend. Tryin’ to live up to it, I suppose.”

Lainey leaned back against his arm. “You have nothing to worry about. No one can hear you over the screaming any way, am I right?”

As if on queue, the screams from the cinema intensified and they both looked toward the door. The Pacemakers had evidently taken the stage. “Fancy watching Gerry?” Paul asked.

“Love to!”

Paul stood and said something to Neil, who nodded and accompanied them out of the dressing room. Conversation was impossible over the pounding music and the din of the audience. Neil led them down the corridor and up a short flight of stairs and arranged two wooden stools for them in the wings, out of the view of the crowd. They were barely seated when Gerry launched into the cheerful hit “How Do You Do It” to deafening screams.

“I love this song!” Lainey yelled.

Paul rolled his eyes, but in seconds he was playing air guitar, nodding his head and bouncing his leg to the beat and mouthing the words. He switched to air piano during the interlude and then decided to use Lainey’s bare leg as his piano, standing up and mugging the words in front her, blocking her view of the stage.

“You have a nice gentle touch on the keyboard,” Lainey shouted, and they both cracked up.

Paul held out his arms when Gerry launched into “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Cryin’,” and Lainey popped off her stool so fast she practically upended it. Slow dancing with Paul McCartney in his Beatles suit? _Yes, please_.

He spun her around with big, expansive steps in the dark wing of the stage until they were both winded from dancing and laughing. Occasionally he would edge her close to the stage lights and pretend to dip her into a spotlight, then he would say, “Uh oh! Too close!” and snatch her back into the dark recesses. Lainey was so enchanted by Paul that a troop of gorillas could have been cavorting with instruments on the stage for all the attention she was paying the Pacemakers. She wondered idly if that was Paul’s intent, to make sure her focus was always on him. Whatever, she was having the time of her life.

“Hello Little Girl” began to play and Lainey’s eyes went wide. “That’s…that’s…” she sputtered.

Paul nodded, encouraging her.

“It’s a Beatles song!” Lainey yelled.

Paul laughed and spun her out and back into his arms.

 _I’m dancing to a Beatles song backstage with a Beatle!_ Lainey wanted to yell, but instead she just grinned and tried to keep up with Paul’s steps.

Halfway through the song, Neil the party pooper appeared behind Paul and tapped him on the shoulder. Paul nodded and stopped dancing. He cupped his hand over Lainey’s ear. “Time to do me face and hair. See you soon, love!” He pressed his lips to her hair and trotted off after Neil.

Winded and with her heart racing, Lainey made her way back to the stool and plopped onto it, her eyes on Gerry and the Pacemakers but her mind reeling with the knowledge that she would soon see the Beatles performing live. This night. If only this night could last forever.

If she thought the crowd was loud for Gerry and the Pacemakers, it was nothing compared to the deafening roar that accompanied the curtain swooshing open on the Beatles.

“Here they are…the Beatles!” the announcer screamed at the top of his lungs. Lainey had never heard anything so powerfully loud in her life as the screams that followed. It was a surreal sense of deafness. She could hear, but she couldn’t hear.

John, Paul and George stood behind three microphones at the front of the stage, plugged in and raring to go. Behind them their Vox amplifiers pointed directly at the audience. Ringo sat behind his drum kit on a riser near the back. It was every Beatles video she’d ever watched on a tiny screen come to life in technicolor, and if only she’d been able to hear them sing and play over the screams it would have been her own personal nirvana.

Paul spoke something unintelligible into his microphone. He turned to Ringo and stomped out the count and they were off. They were all mouthing words, so Lainey assumed they were singing, but all she heard for the first minute was the shrieking of a hundred jet engines with an underlying lick of electric guitar.

Even without hearing a note, the atmosphere was positively electric. Lainey craned her neck for a glimpse of the audience, and she caught sight of Neil. He beckoned to her, and she left her stool and joined him closer to the curtains toward the front of the stage. At this angle they seemed to be more in line with the output from the amplifiers. Neil motioned for her to cup her hands behind her ears, and to her amazement she could hear traces of Paul singing “I Saw Her Standing There.”

She knew they had finished the song when she saw them physically stop playing and step back a bit from the microphones and perform their synchronized bows. Paul glanced to his right and caught sight of Lainey standing next to Neil. His grin was from ear to ear. Lainey grinned back with both hands over her heart, torn between laughing and crying. This was a dream come true.

Paul stepped to the mic and shouted some sort of a “How do ya do” greeting and was met by even louder shrieks. After an introduction that no one could hear, he turned around and made a spooling gesture to Ringo and they launched into another song. George stepped up to the mic and Lainey could barely make out the tune of “Roll Over Beethoven.”

She flinched as something flashed past Paul’s head. He somehow dodged it and kicked it out of the way to the side of the stage, and Lainey saw it was a huge box of chocolates. Candies were flying everywhere. George may have gotten whacked in the eye with a jelly baby during a guitar solo, because he blinked and frowned through the rest of the song. Afterwards he rubbed his eye for a minute or so while Paul took his time introducing the next number, glancing back now and again at George to make sure he was ready to carry on.

The hits and the moments flew by. Lainey somehow picked up strains of “Love Me Do,” “Please Please Me,” and “From Me to You,” and then Neil had her by the elbow, leading her back to the stool.

“Last song,” he shouted.

John was at the microphone, legs spread, guitar held high on his chest, with Paul and George sharing a single microphone at Lainey’s side of the stage. The crowd was going absolutely berserk. The pounding bass rhythm sounded like it might be “Twist and Shout.”

It was over all too soon. The Beatles unplugged their instruments and sprinted off the stage, sweaty and glowing with excitement. Paul blew her a kiss as he dashed by and shouted something that sounded like “my girlfriend!”

Lainey was staring after them with her hand over her heart and a grin on her face when Neil turned and pointed at her. “You. Dressing room,” he yelled. And then they were gone.

As Lainey marched down the stairs she reached into the front pocket of her handbag to check her phone before remembering she had to rely on her new watch for the time. The Beatles had been onstage for only thirty minutes, but what a blissful thirty minutes it had been. She would remember this night for the rest of her life, even though she’d probably never be able to share it with another soul, unless she pretended to be 70 and blogged about it. Not for the first time, Lainey felt like she had simply been born fifty years too late.


	8. Sounds of Laughter

In the dressing room a thickset man introduced himself to Lainey as Mal Evans. He had been charged with getting Lainey back to the hotel in an old white van packed with instruments and other band gear that the boys hadn’t wanted to leave in the dressing room overnight.

Mal took her into a large suite on the third floor of the hotel where music was blaring and whiskey was flowing. Nearly a dozen pretty girls about Lainey’s age were flitting around the room, most of them hanging onto a Beatle or one of the other performers.

Ringo was dancing with a tiny long-haired brunette, John was sitting on the sofa with a curvaceous blonde on his lap, George was leaning against one wall with a clump of girls hanging on his every word, and Paul was…nowhere to be seen.

Lainey covertly kept an eye on George, looking for an opportunity to strike. The moment came when George stepped away from the girls and sauntered over to a table laid out with bottles of Coca-Cola and Scotch. Lainey situated herself near his elbow, smiling up at him.

George shot her a startled look before glancing back to the glass in his hand.

“Hi George! The show was great. I’m thrilled that I got to see it. Your guitar work was fantastic.” Lainey inwardly cringed after adding that last bit, since truthfully she hadn’t heard a note he played and it could have been crap for all she knew.

He nodded and said “Ta” so she relaxed. “Did you get hit in the eye with some of that candy the fans were throwing?” she asked.

He set down his drink. “Aye, did ye see that?” He pointed to his right eye. “I could lose an eye ye know. It’s a load of bollocks. Yer playin’ along and next thing ye know yer blind, aren’t ye?”

“Yeah, that sucks.” Over George’s shoulder Lainey saw Paul in the doorway with damp hair and a flushed face, scanning the crowd. His eyes met Lainey’s and his mouth tightened as he headed her way.

With only seconds left before Paul reached them, Lainey plunged ahead. “So what are you doing later tonight? I was hoping I could talk to you about a mutual friend of ours—”

She broke off as Paul stepped between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Everyone having a good time? Lainey, did you see the German wine I ordered? Let’s get you a glass.” With a firm hand on her shoulder, he steered her away from George and over to a table in the far corner of the room where a bottle of wine rested in a bucket on a handful of ice cubes.

“What are you doing?” Lainey hissed. “You know I need to talk to him!”

“Sure, sure, plenty of time for that. Let’s have some wine and a dance first.” Paul filled two glasses and heaved open a window, letting in the cool night air. “What did you think of the show?” A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Lainey took a sip of the wine and returned the smile. “My face must have said it all. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I don’t know when I’ve been happier.”

Paul glowed at her words. “What was your favorite part?”

“Everything was my favorite part. Your energy, your charisma, your stage presence…the four of you look like best mates having a blast up there, and it’s simply magical. It was everything I expected, a once in a lifetime experience.”

Paul’s smile straightened. “It’s not once in a lifetime at all. We’re here for six days. You can see us every night, can’t you?”

He was frowning down at her, his eyes challenging.

“Um…well…I hadn’t thought about staying that long…” Lainey stammered, growing uncomfortable under the heat of his gaze. “…You see I was hoping to talk to George and John and then—“

“Of course. But there’s no rush, is there?”

“I guess not.” She reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from his eyes. “Did you take a shower just now?”

“A bath. There’s no shower here. I wanted to smell nice for you. Keep you around a bit.” Paul took the glass from her hand and set it on the table next to his. “Dance with me?”

Ringo and the drummer for the Pacemakers seemed to be in charge of the hifi and they kept the dance music pounding. The smile was back on Paul’s face as he swept Lainey around the room, and it stayed on his lovely lips as long as Lainey didn’t lose focus and let her attention wander. As soon as her eyes strayed to where George or John sat with a bevy of girls around them, Paul called her attention back with a silly dance move or a quip about the music or the guests.

He was a natural, graceful dancer, fun to watch and sexy as hell, but Lainey was preoccupied. The room was warm from all the bodies and the dancing, the air thick with the smell of foreign cigarettes. It seemed everyone in 1963 smoked. Lainey gathered her hair on top of her head and held it there with one hand, fanning her neck with the other. “Whew. Let’s take a break. I can hardly breathe with all this smoke.”

Paul dragged a couple of chairs in front of the open window and handed Lainey her glass of wine.

“I thought John was married,” Lainey said, trying to sound casual.

“No one’s married on tour,” Paul said with a shrug.

“Is his wife married while he’s on tour?”

Paul hesitated before answering. “I guess you’d have to ask Cyn, wouldn’t you?”

“Good point. You’re busy being single on tour too. I'm not gonna judge.” Lainey drained her glass of wine and rested her hand on his arm to hopefully soften what she was about to say. “Paul, I’m having a lot of fun here with you and the concert was like the highlight of my life, but you know I’m on a mission here.”

“You don’t say.” Paul took the glass from her hand and refilled it from the bottle at his elbow. He handed her back the glass of wine and touched his glass to hers. “To missions.”

Lainey watched him take a gulp of wine.

“I’m on a mission too, you know,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

“My mission is to keep you here so I can get to know you. I’m growing rather fond of you.”

“I knew it.” In spite of his words, and because of them, Lainey felt her temper rising. She set down her glass and stood over him, her hands on her hips. ““You’re deliberately keeping me from talking to George so I’ll stay here longer, aren’t you?”

Paul considered her words for a moment before his lips curled into that irresistible smile. He raised his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

Lainey tapped her fingers against her hips, trying to keep her expression stern in the face of all that McCartney charm. “I should be really angry right now.”

“You seem to enjoy hitting me in the stomach. Perhaps we could wrestle it out. I think you have a lot of built up tension.” He reached for her waist and Lainey stepped back, dodging his hands.

“You’re impossible. You should be on my side. I’m trying to do something very important here.”

He came up off the chair and captured her hands. “I am on your side, love. I haven’t told a soul your secret. And believe me, everyone has been asking about you.”

He pulled her onto his lap, his arms encircling her waist. “Mmm. You smell nice,” he said, nuzzling her hair.

The room suddenly felt unbearably hot, despite the cool breeze from the open window. Lainey lifted her hair off her neck again, and Paul brushed his lips behind her ear. Now she was shivering and sweating at once. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, jumping to her feet.

Paul stood. “As you wish. My room?”

Lainey scoffed and let her hair fall back down over her shoulders. “Not a chance. I was thinking maybe the beach.” She walked toward the door, eager to get out of the smoke-filled room.

He joined her in the hallway, holding the half empty bottle of wine. “I can’t just go walk on the beach with a girl. The lobby is probably full of fans and we're meant to appear single. Eppy’s rule.”

Lainey leaned against the wall. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It just got really stuffy in there…from the dancing…and the wine…”

Paul closed the distance between them, smiling down at her. “My room is the opposite of stuffy. Only me, and a nice ocean breeze.”

Lainey rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to your room. Get that thought out of your handsome head.” She tapped her index finger against his head to make her point.

“Why ever not?” he asked, his eyes wide, the picture of innocence. “It’s a perfectly lovely room.”

She pushed away from the wall, walking away. “Because, for one thing, I saw all those girls back there. It’s me this week and next week it will be one of them. Or three of them.”

“Three of them? You must think I’m the town bull." He trailed her down the hallway.

“You know what I mean. I’m not special. I’m just the flavor of the week.”

Paul grabbed her arm and wheeled her around to face him. “Of course you’re special. You’re the only one I actually invited to be here.”

He backed her against a doorway, a glint of wonder in his eyes. “You are the very definition of special. There’s really no one in this century quite like you, is there?”

Slowly and seductively, his gaze fell to her lips and stalled. _Oh no you don’t,_ Lainey thought. She knew exactly would happen next. They were leaning against the doorway to his room.

With her palms on his chest, she gave him a little shove. "Don't even think about it."

He stepped back, a rueful expression on his face. “Are you breaking up with me, Lainey?”

Lainey sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Enough of that girlfriend talk. I have a reason to be here and I’m not going to let you distract me. No more kissing and cooing until I get to talk to George and John.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lainey love.”

She stood in the middle of the hallway, tapping her foot impatiently. “Set it up or kiss these lips goodbye.”

Paul smiled. “All right, love. But not tonight. Everyone’s knackered. Tomorrow we’re having a photo session on the beach. You can come. That might be a good time to pull George aside.”

Lainey considered the idea. “Okay…thank you.”

“But first I want to talk to you. I want to know exactly what you’re planning to say. He’s my mate, I think I’ll know how he’ll react.”

She nodded. “That’s fine. Good idea.”

“I know the perfect spot.” He handed her the bottle of wine. “Hang on a tick.” He unlocked his room and disappeared inside, returning seconds later with a soft white blanket, whistling a happy little tune as he reached for her hand.

***************************

"You cold?" Paul asked for the second time.

The night breeze was like a slap in the face after the stuffy hotel room. They were on a terrace that overlooked the hotel grounds and the path to the beach, lit only by the moon occasionally breaking through the clouds.

Lainey shivered. “I’m okay.”

Paul unbuttoned his dress shirt down to his black T-shirt. He stripped it off and held it out to her, slipping it over her arms, then took his time rolling up the sleeves and cuffing them at her elbows. _This man_. He made dressing her the sexiest thing she'd ever seen. His hands slid down her arms and he held her fingertips, gently swinging their arms and smiling down at her. “Better?”

Lainey was enveloped in a cloud of intoxicating Paul smells drifting up from his shirt: the bath soap he’d used, the pine scent of his deodorant, the lingering smoke from the room they’d just left. She took a deep breath. “Can I keep this shirt as a souvenir of the night I was Paul McCartney’s girlfriend in 1963?” she teased.

“Of course, lovely. Can I keep **_you_**?" His words made her heart jolt, but she smiled as if soon-to-be-world-famous rock stars flirted with her every day. Paul leaned in and she closed her eyes. His warm lips closed on hers with the lightest pressure, his energy surrounding her, bright and chaotic. Their lips locked and he grabbed the back of her head, holding her face still so he could kiss her more deeply. The tip of his tongue urged her lips apart, and she opened her mouth to let him taste her. He tasted of smoke, wine and ocean.

Everything felt different, the air buzzing as if reminding her how lucky she was to be here. And how soon she would be gone. _What was she doing? And why did she want to keep doing it?_

He pulled back, and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her expectantly. As if to check on her.

“I’m in trouble,” she whispered, her heart pounding. And then, because she was a dumbass masochist, she lifted her face to his for another kiss.

“You’re trouble all right.” His breath whispered against her lips.

Their lips met again, but they quickly pulled apart at the sound of giggling from the left side of the terrace.

“Hi girls,” Paul called to the two blonde heads popping up over a chest high wall.

“Which one are you?” one of the girls shouted.

“I’m Paul, which one are you?” There was more giggling as he walked toward them.

He greeted the two girls and peered over the wall. “Hello down there, girls!”

Lainey heard squeals coming from the hotel grounds two stories below. She leaned against the railing, catching her breath as she watched Paul sign the autograph books the girls handed over the wall. There was some shuffling and excited chatter and two new heads popped over the wall. More giggling, more signatures.

“Can you get George?” one girl asked.

“No, sorry, he’s sleeping. We’ll all be at the beach tomorrow, you can see him then,” Paul promised. “Don’t tell anyone we’re out here, would you? We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“They were standing on each other’s shoulders and clinging to the wall!” Paul told Lainey when the girls had dropped back down to the ground. His eyes were wide with amazement.

“Beatles fans be crazy,” Lainey said. “I should know.” She gripped the railing and stared out to sea, watching moon beams breaking through the scattered clouds and dancing on glittering waves.

A strong breeze blew through her hair, and Paul reached over and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Where were we?” he asked. His lips were parted, his eyes intense. As she looked at him a moonbeam seemed to come from behind a cloud and fall on him like a spotlight, reminding her of who he was destined to be.

“We were about to do something crazy.”

He ran a hand through her wind-tangled hair. “What’s so crazy about it?”

A heaviness centered in her chest. “I’m only here for a few days, and we need to focus.” She let her forehead fall against his chest. “I really shouldn’t kiss you any more, Paul.”

His arms went around her. “Are you afraid you’ll like it too much?”

“I already like it too much.”

She leaned in to him, trying to memorize how their bodies felt pressed together, how his hands felt on the small of her back, how her mouth reached to the height of his neck, how his shoulders seemed made for her to rest her head on them.

A sea bird cried a few yards away and Lainey lifted her head, watching it wheeling and gliding on the stiff breeze. She sighed, her thoughts jagged. “You said you wanted to talk about what I was going to say to the others.”

His mouth moved to her forehead and he placed one gentle kiss there before releasing her. “All right, Lainey love, let’s get comfortable. We have a lot to talk about.”

She watched him pulling cushions from several lounge chairs and arranging them on the stone floor, making a cozy little love nest at the far edge of the terrace, facing the sea. “Grab the wine, would you?” he called.

They lay facing each other on the cushions, propped on their elbows, the blanket thrown over them.

“Talk to me, Lainey Love. What’s going to happen to George and John in your future?”

“You really want to know?”

"Of course. I'm asking aren't I?"

Lainey took a deep breath. “George dies of lung cancer at 58.”

Paul was quiet for a minute. “That's old though. 58 is a pretty good life.”

“You won't think that when you're 58. It isn't old. That's young, by 2012 standards. You're 70 something and going strong.”

“Get out.”

“Still rocking.”

“That's bollocks. Nobody wants to see an old man playing rock n roll.”

“Well, your legions of fans seem to think otherwise.”

He smiled. “Have you ever come to one of my shows?”

She shook her head. “Can’t afford it. I'm a poor college student.”

“How much are tickets?”

“I don't know, Paul, a couple hundred dollars a pop.”

“Bloody hell! How much money do I need?”

“I don't know.” She suddenly thought of something. “You know what? You should try to get the publishing rights to the Beatles songs.”

“What do you mean?”

There's a lot of money in it every time a song is played, but even if you wrote the song you have to own the publishing rights. You should look into that before MJ does.”

His brow furrowed. “MJ.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, back to George. He dies when I'm ten years old, a painful death. I want him to live and be happy. Maybe I could even meet him.”

“You're meeting him now.”

“I'd like to meet him as his granddaughter, not as some weird chick who knows things she shouldn't."

He nodded, his mind a million miles away. "What about John?"

Lainey sighed. This was really hard to talk about, maybe even harder than talking about George, because of how young John was, and the senselessness of it. "John gets murdered in New York in December of 1980. He's barely forty years old."

"Christ," Paul whispered. "How?"

"A deranged fan shot him."

"His life is more than half over now." Paul closed his eyes. “And you think you can stop it from happening?"

"I'd like to try."

"Well you can't tell him you're from the future."

"Why not? He already suspects something like that, from seeing my passport."

Paul frowned at her. "I don't want anyone else knowing the truth, Lainey. John would tell Cyn, and she'd tell Mo. She’s a hairdresser. That would be like telling all of Liverpool. It isn't safe telling anyone else."

He chewed on the pad of his thumb, thinking. "Tell them you went to a fortune teller, one who's really successful in the States, and she told you specific things about what's going to happen to him. Or, I dunno, tell them Marie has some sort of second sight."

"You think they would believe that?"

"Sure. George has a spiritual side. Even John believes in the supernatural." His eyes scrolled over her features. “I’ll help you talk to John and George, but I want something from you in return.”

She swallowed. “Um…okay?”

“You said when you went back to 2012 you landed in the same instant, as if you’d never been gone?”

“That’s how it happened when my mom called. I ended up back at Abbey Road with the phone still ringing.”

“So you could stay here for a week or so and no one would miss you?”

Lainey lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose so. I don’t exist in this time.”

“Then I’d like for you to stay here for the week and let me get to know you.”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Why is it so important to you that I stay?”

He reached his hand to her head, stroking her hair. “I dunno. You fell into my lap from fifty years in the future and when you leave I have absolutely no way to contact you. It's maddening, because I like you, Lainey. I like you a lot. And the situation is completely out of my control.”

"I like you too, but it’s...it can't go anywhere. I don't belong here."

He exhaled a long breath. “Just promise me you’ll stay for the week, and I’ll make sure you get to talk to John and George.”

“I promise.”

"That's my girlfriend."

She place a hand over his lips. "Stop that."

He kissed each of her fingertips and her heart thudded. Then he leaned over and kissed her lips.

They filled five minutes with kisses before Lainey somehow came to her senses. What was she doing? She couldn't let this progress any further. Paul McCartney was a heartbreak waiting to happen.

"We have to stop this kissing."

"Mmm right you are," Paul said between little teasing kisses. "Must find something else to do with our mouths."

Lainey smiled against his lips. "I like you, as ridiculous as it is, I really do."

"I like you too."

She pulled away. "I'm glad I got to meet you now, before you belong to the whole world."

"I won't change,” Paul promised, a serious look on his face. “I'll always be the same old scruff. I'll just have a new suit. And a nicer car."

"And hotter girlfriends."

His lips quirked up, ”Hotter than you? Not possible."

He rolled onto his back, pulling Lainey to his chest. “Let’s leave our fate in the hands of the Universe. If we’re meant to be together, we’ll catch a falling star and make a wish.”

“And if we don’t see a falling star?”

“Then we’ll keep looking.”

They watched for falling stars for at least ten minutes before Lainey heard Paul sigh.

“Do you see anything?” she asked.

“Too cloudy,” he said. “It was a bad plan. We’ll have to come back out here tomorrow night, and the next night, and the next, until the weather clears.”

She laughed softly. “I see what you’re about.”

“It’s nice out here, though, innit?”

His hand cupped the back of her head and he placed a kiss on the side of her face.

“It’s nice,” she agreed.

She curled herself around him, her head resting on his shoulder, and let her eyes drift closed. The lullaby of the sea, the sucking sound as it drew breath to come in and the roaring as it pulled back, dragging sand and pebbles with it, the endless shuuuuuush and swoooooosh, lulled her into a contented drowsiness.

Soon she heard Paul’s breathing deepen and lifted her head to check that he’d fallen asleep. She studied him in the moonlight. His heart shaped face looked almost boyish, his eyelashes fanned over his cheeks, his pouty lips parted.

 _What a night. What a crazy night._ Falling for this man couldn’t possibly end well. It was a nonstop train to heartache. But he seemed determined to make her his girlfriend for the week, nobody in 2012 even knew she was gone, and how was she supposed to resist Paul McCartney when he turned those brown eyes on her with their puppy soulfulness?

She settled back onto his shoulder. He sighed in his sleep and wrapped his arms tighter around her waist.

Lainey looked toward the sea and in her peripheral vision a trail of light streaked across the sky and disappeared. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to decide what to wish for.

 _Love everlasting?_ The women in her family didn’t seem to have much luck in that department. _A great story to tell her grandchildren?_ Nobody would ever believe it. They’d have her locked away. _More time for John and George._ That was the one. And as for Paul, _I wish that we wouldn’t break each other’s hearts._

She smoothed her palm over Paul’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. _I wish I knew what to do with you._

That was far too many wishes for one star. Lainey supposed Paul was right. They’d have to keep falling asleep together under the clouds until the weather cleared. She smiled at the thought of it, and her last wish before she drifted off to sleep was that this week of cloudy skies and cool ocean breezes and warm kisses could somehow have a happy ending.


	9. Shades of Life

Someone was whispering her name, and her face was damp and cold. When Lainey opened her eyes, Paul was holding the blanket tented over their heads. “It’s raining,” he said. “Let’s get inside.”

They stumbled up to the third floor. The door to the main suite was still propped open, lights blazing. Two girls were sleeping curled like a pile of kittens on a sofa beside the record player. Behind them a random musician Lainey didn’t recognize was passed out on the carpet.

Paul made a circuit of the room, turning off lamps, drawing drapes.

He paused beside the sofa, looking down at the girls. "Poor birds, they'll pay for all that whisky in the morn." He wandered into an adjoining bedroom, came back with a blanket and spread it over the girls.

"What about the dude on the floor?" Lainey whispered.

Paul shrugged. "He's used to it."

"Just another night on the road," Lainey said, barely suppressing a yawn.

Paul grabbed two handfuls of the blanket draped over Lainey’s shoulders and reeled her in so that she was flush against his chest. “Your room?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

She shook her head. “No way.”

“C’mon. We’re too tired to do anything but sleep.”

Lainey laughed. “Whatever. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“That’s right, I forget. You weren’t born for thirty more years.”

She yelped as she felt herself falling, but the landing came quickly and wasn’t bad at all. Quite nice, actually. Paul was on his back on a sofa near an open window and Lainey was on top of him, in a tangle of Paul and the shirt of his she still wore and the damp blanket twisted around their legs. She was too sleepy and comfortable to move another muscle.

 

Lainey’s next thought was that the smell of cigarettes was so strong it even permeated her dreams. Then she heard a low murmur of conversation and realized she was no longer dreaming. Her eyes flickered open and she struggled to focus.

Ringo was sitting on a sofa in front of her, puffing on a cigarette and calmly assessing her through a haze of smoke. A pretty brunette sat beside him, clutching his hand.

“Mornin’. Sleep well?” Ringo asked.

Lainey blinked from Ringo to the girl, sitting primly in a tight skirt and short sleeved sweater. It was the girl from last night. She was no more than a teenager. Her dark hair was pulled up in a bun with full bangs, and she looked oddly familiar.

“Wait a minute…you’re Maureen!” Lainey tried to sit up, but Paul’s leg was thrown across hers and his hand was on her boob. _Jesus._ Paul groaned and slung an arm over his face as she extricated herself and sat up.

"Oh my god,” Lainey continued. “I didn't recognize you last night with your hair down! This is so cool, I didn't know you guys were already together?”

Maureen scrunched her adorable nose. "Have we met?"

Lainey rubbed a hand over her eyes. _Shit._ She couldn't just wake up and start blathering without thinking.

Ringo took another drag on his cigarette and addressed the girl who would become his first wife. "This is Lainey, Paul’s new bird. Conked herself on the head a few days ago and has been talking shite ever since."

Maureen frowned. "Have you seen a doctor about that?"

Lainey sighed. "No, I probably should though. Probably need my head examined."

Behind her Paul stretched and groaned again. He snuggled against her back and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I'm feeling a bit amorous this mornin’, Lainey love. Fancy coming to my room?"

“Sshh!” she hissed, reaching around and covering his face with her hand to stop his chattiness. "We have company."

Paul pushed her hand away and cracked open one brown eye. "It's only Ring and Mo." His hand slid up her side, stalling just beneath her breast.

Maureen was looking Lainey up and down, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Lainey realized she must be a sight in her short, slinky dress and Paul’s rumpled dress shirt, her hair windblown and rained on. “We fell asleep outside,” she explained, dragging the blanket over the expanse of her bare legs. “And then we fell asleep inside.”

Ringo barked a laugh and looked away.

“Are you American?” Maureen asked. “How did you meet Paul?”

“It’s kind of a long story, but are you going to the beach today? Maybe we can talk later.”

“Good morning, boys! I trust the shows went well?”

Everyone looked toward the sound of a posh, clipped voice from the doorway. Lainey immediately recognized Beatles manager Brian Epstein, crisp and perfect in his light grey suit and peach tie.

She drew in a startled breath. _Freaking hell._ Now she was about to meet the great Brian Epstein. In her clothes and makeup from last night, wearing Paul’s shirt. What a fabulous first impression this would make.

Paul abruptly sat up, smoothing down his hair and clearing his throat.

“Morning, Brian. The shows were great. Good sound, great audience.”

“Never better,” Ringo agreed.

“That’s tremendous.” Brian rubbed his hands together. “Everyone had breakfast? Ready for the photo shoot?”

At a nod from Ringo, Maureen shot to her feet and reached for Lainey’s hand.

Lainey stared at her in astonishment for a second before taking the girl’s hand and letting her pull her to her feet. They made a large circle around Brian and headed for the doorway. _What was this? Brian’s no girls allowed policy?_

“My purse,” Lainey said, veering off to grab her handbag from a chair in the corner where she’d left it last night. She looked over her shoulder at Paul. His attention was focused on Brian.

“What was that about?” Lainey asked when they got into the hallway. “Why did we have to leave so suddenly?”

Maureen let go of Lainey’s hand and gave a delicate shrug. “They were talking business. Men’s stuff.”

A door opened and George stepped out. “Mornin’ girls. All right?”

Maureen jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Hello, George. Bri’s here.”

“Right. See you.” George ambled past them down the hall.

Lainey was still trying to puzzle out what had transpired back in the main suite, the look Ringo had given Maureen and the way Maureen had ushered her out of there. “Does Brian not want the boys to have girlfriends?”

Maureen’s pretty brow furrowed. “It’s more that the boys don’t want Brian to know their personal business.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”

They paused beside the room next to Paul’s.

“You said you’re coming to the beach?” Maureen asked.

“Of course!”

“We can’t ride in the van with the band, but George brought his car. Someone will give us a ride, or we can walk.”

“Cool, cool.” Lainey winced when she saw Maureen’s confused look. Did they use the word “cool” in 1963? Hopefully Maureen and everyone else here would blame her strangeness on the fact that she was American, because she really had no idea about 1960s slang.

“Cool,” Maureen repeated with a laugh. “Thirty minutes?”

“Room 323,” Lainey said, practically sprinting down the hall. She had thirty minutes to bathe and erase what the wind and rain had done to her hair and try and figure out what exactly she was going to say to George.

 

 

The photographer had rented Victorian bathing costumes and straw hats for the boys to wear for the shoot at Brean Down. Lainey’s jaw dropped at the sight of John, Paul, George and Ringo casually stripping down to their white briefs right there on the beach to pull on the horizontally striped suits, but Maureen didn’t bat an eyelash so maybe this was normal male behavior for 1963.

For the next two hours Lainey sat on the sand with Maureen and watched the Beatles tackle each other, build pyramids, strike muscleman poses, dance the Charleston and generally lark about. Maureen was sweet and open and friendly and Lainey liked her immediately. She seemed fascinated by the slinky material of Lainey’s dress, by her sandals, her pink shoulder bag, even the way Lainey had her hair tied up.

“Where can I get one of these?” Maureen wanted to know. She had her hands in Lainey’s hair, trying to get a better look at the black satin scrunchy.

Lainey pulled the scrunchy out and handed it to Maureen to examine. “I always have one in my bag for the beach. I guess they’re only available in America.”

“I could make this,” Maureen was saying. “It’s only an elastic band with material sewn around it. I could even crochet around a loop of elastic.”

“You go, girl.” Lainey smiled at her, wondering how Ringo could ever break this sweet girl’s heart. She knew Maureen was a hairdresser back in Liverpool. How funny would it be if Maureen came up with the design of the scrunchy twenty years before Debbie Gibson and Madonna made it famous in the wacky 1980s? “You can have that one. You should definitely make some, and don’t forget to patent it.”

By the time the Beatles photo shoot was over, a dozen fans had gathered to watch. Lainey and Maureen continued chatting, not paying much attention to the boys signing autograph books and posing for pictures with fans. After a few minutes they heard a shrill whistle. Paul and Ringo were standing by George’s convertible Jaguar, waving for them.

“Are we supposed to jump whenever they whistle?” Lainey teased.

“We are unless we fancy walking back.” Maureen hopped to her feet.

 

“Nice ride, George,” Lainey said, trailing her hand over the sleek, sun-warmed hood.

“I quite like it myself,” George said, grinning.

Then, to Lainey’s amazement, she and Maureen were bundled into the backseat of the photographer’s Ford, while Paul jumped into George’s tiny two-seat convertible and roared off, waving at fans and startled bystanders all along the route back to the hotel.

“Well that little shit,” Lainey muttered. “He knows I wanted to ride with George.”

“You wanted to ride with George?” Maureen repeated, looking confused.

Lainey sighed, trying to come up with a plausible story for Maureen. “I’ve been wanting to talk to George. We have a mutual friend.”

“Who’s that?” Maureen asked innocently.

“Marie Spencer, from Liverpool. Did you know her?”

Maureen frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s a few years older than you are. She’s around…20 now…” Lainey trailed off, startled by the realization that she was exactly the same age her grandmother was in 1963. Somewhere in America, her grandmother was a 20-year-old single mother. She suddenly felt a pang of homesickness for her grandmother. They spoke almost every day. It was going to be a rough week knowing she couldn’t talk to her.

 

Back at the hotel, the Beatles signed autographs for another group of fans at the entrance to the lobby, watched by an anxious Neil. John was still proudly sporting his Victorian swimming costume. Lainey heard Paul call, “Take care of the birds, will you Mal?” and she and Maureen were whisked into an elevator and taken up to the third floor.

Lainey stood in the hallway, not sure what to do next, and finding herself growing annoyed at Paul. “Are you hungry?” she asked Maureen.

“Starving,” Maureen said.

“You haven’t had breakfast either?”

Maureen shook her head.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

Maureen shrugged. “Wait for the lads, I suppose.”

“This sucks. I’m going back down and find some lunch. Want to come?”

Maureen hesitated. “I dunno, we won’t be able to get back up, and we’ll just cause trouble for everyone…” She sighed. “And I don’t have any extra money.”

“I’ll buy you lunch. Hold on while I fetch my giant bag full of coins.”

 

The ancient elevator seemed to take forever to arrive, and when the doors finally opened, all of the Beatles and Mal and Neil spilled out into the hallway. 

Paul bounced over with a huge smile on his face. “Lainey love! Where do you think you’re going?”

“We’re going to lunch.” She lowered her voice and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure why I even went to the beach since you were busy the whole time and you zoomed off with George when you know I want to talk to him.”

His face fell. “I have to work, you know. I thought you’d want to come and watch us.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even had breakfast, and we’re both starving…” Lainey started to gesture toward Maureen and realized the girl was being led away by Ringo. She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m going to lunch.”

Paul grabbed her arm. “Wait…you missed breakfast? I’m sorry, Lainey. Come on, we’ll order something up for the two of us.”

The next thing she knew, Paul was on the phone in his room ordering massive amounts of eggs and chips, sausage, toast and jam and a kettle of tea while Lainey waited in a chair by the small table.

He hung up the phone and joined her at the table, pulling his chair so close their knees touched. “Sorry, love, that was thoughtless of me. I’m not used to having a girlfriend on tour with me to look after.”

“You’re not?” Lainey raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Tell me what you usually have for breakfast back home,” Paul said, smoothly changing the subject.

They made small talk until the food arrived. In moments Lainey was feeling much less cross, and she found herself falling under the spell of Paul’s masterful conversational skills. Soon she was telling him all about her life back home, how her parents had never married but her father was a big part of her life, and how she had grown up hanging around her father’s independent record store and now worked in the coffee shop at the back of the store when she wasn’t in school.

Paul rested his chin in his hands with an attitude of rapt attention. “What’s a record store in 2012 like?”

Lainey gave a little smirk. “Honestly? Sometimes we sell more coffee and snacks than we do records. The record business is dying.”

“What? Surely you’re not saying people have stopped listening to music.”

“Oh, they listen. Just not to physical records so much.”

Paul arched a brow. “What is it then? Magnetic tape?”

She smiled. “That’s already come and gone. Everything’s digital now.”

“Explain.”

“Um…I would if I could. So everything is in files that you can download and they play on your phone or your iPod, or you stream them from the cloud…”

“How does the artist get paid then?”

“I don’t know, I guess by iTunes or Spotify or whatever.”

His expression was blank.

“Everything is on computers,” she continued. “And there’s this thing called the world wide web and literally everything you ever wanted to know is on there, including any song you ever want to hear, or any movie you want to see, available instantly at the touch of a finger.”

“Bollocks.”

Lainey shrugged. “You’ll see.”

Paul leaned in closer. “I want to see now. Take me back with you.”

“Be serious.”

“Lainey. I am deeply serious.”

“I can’t do that.”

He frowned. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Lainey pushed her plate away. “How could you come back with me when you’re still alive in 2012? There would be two of you. That’s not possible.”

Paul smirked. “That’s not possible, but you zooming back and forth fifty years is possible?” 

“You’re right,” she said, sighing heavily. “I don’t understand it either.”

“Let me see that ring.” Paul reached for her hand.

Lainey pulled her hand into her lap. “No, we’ve already talked about this. What if I let you mess with it and the real Paul McCartney disappears?”

“The fuck are you talking about? I’m the real Paul McCartney.”

“What if you go forward in time and can’t get back and the Beatles never happen? That would actually be huge. I mean, I’d have to come back here and fix that.”

He wiggled his fingers at her. “You said there’s a picture of George in the ring. Let me see it.”

“Promise you won’t touch it.”

He rolled his eyes. “All right, all right. Jesus.”

Lainey picked up her handbag and wrapped it across her chest in case something weird happened and she went spinning off into time. She pried open the ring and gasped as Paul’s hand shot out and captured hers, pulling her fingers close to his face.

“This photo was taken last month. He’s in the new grey suit.” He released her hand and Lainey pulled it back into her lap, twisting the ring around and curling her fist closed over it.

Paul sat back. “Which confirms what I suspected. Each time you’ve come back to the year that photo was taken, and on the same date as the date you left.” He tapped his thumb against his lip. “But is the ring taking you where George is? Both times you were already at EMI, right?”

She nodded.

“What if…” He studied the ceiling, deep in thought. “What if you changed the photograph in the ring?”

“I don’t think we should mess with it.”

“Listen to me, Lainey. I’ve been thinking. Maybe the photograph is the key—“ There was a knock at the door and he broke off, frowning. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Hey, George-o. We were just talking about you.” Paul opened the door wide.

“Your turn to get fitted, mate,” George said.

“Yeah? How do they look?”

“Not so bad. Dark blue with velvet collars.”

“We’re getting new suits,” Paul said to Lainey. He turned back to George. “So what are you doing now?”

George scratched his head. “Think I’ll sit outside on the terrace and play me guitar.”

“Aye. See you later then.”

As George sauntered away, Paul turned to Lainey and gave her a wink. “There you are, love. Have at it.”

Lainey skipped across the room, stretching up on her tiptoes to kiss Paul on the cheek. “Thank you for brunch. And for George.”

He scooped an arm around her waist and pressed his mouth to hers, and Lainey felt that same jolt she got whenever his hands or his lips touched her. The kiss went on…and on…and Lainey clung to him, forgetting all about George and losing all inclination to leave. Her skin was thrumming, her heart pounding.

“Get a room, you animals,” someone growled from the hallway.

“Shurrup John,” Paul said, swinging the door closed.

Lainey stepped back, catching her breath, her hands still clutching Paul’s shoulders. “Wow,” she whispered.

“One more kiss for luck,” Paul said, pressing a last soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll meet you back here in…” He glanced at his watch. “Seven minutes?”

“Yeah. Seven minutes.” Lainey stepped away, her heart still racing. “Wait, what? It’s going to take more than seven minutes, you clown.” She slipped her handbag off her shoulder and tried to swat him with it.

He ducked out of the way and opened the door. “I know you can’t bear being away from me that long, Lainey Love. Five minutes. And then I’ll come looking for you.”

Lainey wagged a finger at him. “You’ll do no such thing.” She ran a hand through her hair. “God. I can’t even think straight now.”

“You’ll do fine.” He studied her a moment, frowning. “I don’t like letting you out of my sight for this long.”

“Oh really? You didn’t seem to mind when you went roaring off in George’s Jaguar.”

“I knew you wouldn’t disappear in front of Mo.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t disappear, Lainey. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Lainey sighed, straightening her clothes. “You don’t have to keep kissing me senseless just to keep me here.”

“I know that, you daft girl.” His face broke into a sudden smile, dazzling her. “It’s just that when I’m not kissing you, all I’m doing is thinking about kissing you.”

“Oh my god. I have to get out of here.” She pushed past him into the hallway.

“Five minutes!” Paul called after her.

Lainey quickened her steps, ignoring him. What was she going to do about that man, and those lips, and the way the world exploded and her nether regions tingled every time he touched her, and the way she wanted to throw him against a wall and keep going at it?

She rushed into the stairwell and let the door slam behind her. _Get it together, Lainey, for god’s sake_ , she told herself. _Forget about Paul McCartney and remember the reason you’re here._

George. It was finally time to talk to George.


	10. Need a Shot of Rhythm and Blues

George was slumped over his guitar, all angles and edges, ignoring the pleas of the fans continually popping their heads over the wall on the other side of the terrace.

Lainey pretended to be fascinated by an ocean liner chugging across the horizon. Deep breath, fingers crossed. In a perfect world, George would notice her and start a conversation, and she would sidle over and say something like, _Oh by the way, smoking causes cancer now, who knew?_

After a minute or so the music stopped. Lainey turned around.

“America is that way.” George pointed vaguely out to sea.

“Really? I wouldn't have guessed.”

George went back to playing his guitar. Lainey wondered if that had been his way of telling her to go home. _Not quite yet, Granddad._ She scraped a lounge chair across the stones and sat as close to him as she dared. She watched him silently, his dark hair lifting and falling in the salty breeze, his face calm, lost in his own melodious world.

"What’s that song? It’s catchy," she asked after a few minutes.

“Carl Perkins. A deep album cut. You wouldn’t know it.”

Lainey scoffed. “I happen to have heard a lot of Carl Perkins in my day. My father owns a record store. Rockabilly for the win.”

There was a glimmer of interest on George’s face, the first she’d seen. _Aha. Now she was speaking his language._

“Where is it then?” George asked. “I’m off to America in September.”

“America is a big place, but it’s in Richmond, Virginia. Home of the Old Dominion Barn Dance. Get hot or go home.” Lainey stared at him coolly, hoping he couldn’t see through all the shit she was talking right now.

“What’s the name of the store?” George said, a look of challenge on his face.

She paused, thinking. _What the heck was the name of the store fifty years ago, before her father renamed it after his favorite Beatles song?_ “Groove Records,” she finally sputtered, mentally patting herself on the back for pulling that name out of her arse.

George resumed his playing.

"Your sister Louise lives in America, right?” she continued, trying to keep him interested.

He didn't glance up. "Paul tell you that?"

She shook her head. "You and I have a mutual friend."

"Yeah? Who's that?"

"Marie Spencer."

The music stopped again. He stared soul deep into her eyes, and Lainey held her breath. It was uncanny how much he looked like her mother with that dark, almost French look.

"Is she in England too?" he asked finally.

"No. She couldn't make it."

"I came back from Hamburg and she was gone. Never even said goodbye."

"I know. She told me."

George turned away, staring out at the sparkling expanse of sea. "Marie was the first girl I ever loved."

Tears sprang to Lainey's eyes. "She felt the same way about you." Her voice cracked, and George's attention snapped back to her face.

"She all right?"

Lainey swiped a hand across her eyes. "Yes, she's fine. She wanted me to tell you something."

"Go on."

"She said she loves you, and all is forgiven."

George's lips tightened in a grim line. "She thinks I cheated on her, back in Liverpool."

"She never mentioned any of that."

"There were girls everywhere, hanging round the Cavern, but I didn't cheat on her."

"It's ancient history."

"But she has it all wrong! And she left with no address or nothin’!"

Lainey's eyes widened at the intensity in his voice. In her mind, they were talking about something that happened to her grandmother fifty years ago, but to George it was recent history, and evidently the feelings were still raw.

"George, she's made peace with it. I've never heard a bad word about you. She's happy and she wants you to be happy."

"Why were you crying just now?"

Lainey shrugged. "Homesick I guess."

George leaned the guitar against the back of the lounge chair, reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"You'll leave me her addy," he said, lighting up.

"Oh...I don't know if that's such a good idea..."

"Does she have someone else then?"

Lainey thought a minute. She'd never known her beautiful grandmother to date. "I couldn't say."

George blew out an exasperated breath. "Did she say anything else?"

"Yes, she did actually." Lainey decided to go out on a limb. Paul had mentioned George was spiritual, and she had a plan, if she could get George to cooperate. “I heard you lost a grandparent recently," she said, fishing for information.

George nodded. “Lost my grandmum last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Marie knew her, right?”

“Sure, Marie met her. My mum was taking care of her at the end.”

_BINGO._

“What was her name again?”

“Louise. Like my mum and my sister.”

“Right. Of course.”

Over George's shoulder, she saw Paul step onto the terrace, checking out the scene with his hands on his hips. He looked at George and Lainey for a long beat. Lainey held her breath, trying to warn him away with her eyes.

The girls at the wall squealed, and Paul headed for them.

Lainey released the held breath. "This is going to sound strange, but Marie has been having dreams about your Grandma Louise.”

George sucked on the cigarette, his expression thoughtful. "What sort of dreams?"

"Well, you know, there are all these recent studies that show that smoking causes cancer. Throat cancer, and especially lung cancer. It's very bad for you."

George examined his cigarette. "Is everyone meant to have cancer then? Everyone smokes. Last time I saw a doc, he lit up in the examining room."

Lainey winced. "That is so nuts."

Paul was beside them, holding a stack of autograph books and a pen. "Sign these. Their names are in the front."

"I didn't hear the word please."

"Please sign for the birds, George-o."

Paul handed the books to George. He smiled at Lainey.

 _Go away!_ Lainey mouthed to him over George's lowered head.

Paul rolled his eyes and looked back at George. "Giz a ciggie mate."

"Get your own ruddy fags," George grumbled. He handed over the autograph books and shook out a cigarette for Paul.

"What about these dreams?" George asked as soon as Paul bounded away.

"Marie has been having recurring dreams where your grandmother tells her that you will die an early death from lung cancer. From smoking."

George stared at her a long beat. “Tis a bit odd, innit?"

She nodded. "It's strange, yes. It's like your grandmother wants someone to tell you."

"Why would she appear to Marie, a girl I haven’t seen in years?”

Lainey shrugged. "Maybe she appears to everyone who knows you. Even you. Maybe Marie is the only one remembering the dreams. Or she's somehow receptive to it."

George blew out a long breath of smoke. "I wouldn't mind quitting." He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with a booted heel. "It costs an arm and a leg. Specially since Paul is always blagging me smokes off me."

He picked up the guitar. "Do you play?"

"A little."

To her surprise, George placed the guitar in her lap. Lainey positioned her hands and began to strum.

This was like a dream come true. She was playing her grandfather's Gibson acoustic, and she had his undivided attention. They were bonding, and even though he was barely twenty years old and didn't look or act at all grandfatherly, this was a day she would never forget.

“Oi, what is that?"

Lainey raised her head to see Paul standing beside them. Her hands stilled. She'd been stumbling through the opening lines of “Yesterday”, and she had no idea if Paul had started writing it yet in 1963.

"What on earth are you playing?" Paul asked again.

"Um...it's that song you were whistling yesterday, remember?"

Paul took a drag on his cigarette. "Go on then."

"I can't remember it any more." She handed the guitar back to George, who immediately began to play something vaguely familiar.

“I didn’t know you played guitar.” Paul dropped the cigarette in an ash tray and sat down next to Lainey, their legs touching from hips to knees. He tilted his head to one side. “There is so much I have yet to learn about my own girlfriend.”

Lainey darted a glance at him and looked away, fighting the urge to giggle. This was getting bad. She had never been a giggler, but something about Paul’s playfulness with her made her feel like a love struck teenybopper.

Paul leaned into her, nudging her with his shoulder, his eyes full of mirth. “My girlfriend is like an onion.”

Lainey gave in to the giggling. “What? I stink? I make you cry? I turn brown in the sun and sprout little white hairs?”

“Layers.” Paul giggled back. “Layers of Lainey.” He placed a kiss on the side of her face.

George strummed louder, his foot tapping the stone floor. “Do you lot want to be alone?”

“Obviously,” Paul said.

“Of course not,” Lainey said, straightening her back.

“Thirty minutes, lads,” Neil called from the hotel doorway.

Paul stood, stretching, which seemed to set off a new chorus of squeals from the fans clinging to the opposite wall. “Be right back,” he said, wandering toward them.

Lainey watched him go, idly scratching at a bug bite on her arm. She was already getting too fond of Paul, and already realizing how keenly she would miss him when she left.

“He can’t get enough of it,” George said, shaking his head. “The fans, you know. He’s drunk on all the attention.”

“What about you?” Lainey said, smiling slightly.

“Me? I want to be successful. I don’t give a fig for being famous.”

Lainey met his somber dark eyes. George was an introspective, deep thinker who seemed to love his peace and quiet. Having met him, she couldn’t imagine how he would cope with the chaos that would soon take over his life. No wonder he’d soon be relying on drugs to escape.

He stood and reached for his packet of cigarettes, reflexively tapping one out of the packet. He looked at Lainey, grinned and put it back. “You tell Marie to tell me grandmum that I’ve cut back.”

Lainey laughed. “Okay. And I truly hope you will. Healthy lungs and all that.”

“And you’ll get me Marie’s addy?”

She looked away. “About that…maybe I should check with her first.”

He nodded, accepting. Lainey was suddenly sad for him. He was on the brink of world adoration, with no idea what lay ahead. From what Lainey had read and heard, he would be utterly unfulfilled by all of the trappings of celebrity. She remembered hearing him say being a Beatle had cost him his nervous system. She wished there was something she could say to him to ease the way.

“George? The Beatle thing…you’re going to come out of it just fine. I have a sixth sense about people, and I know you’re a survivor.”

“Who’re you telling?” George picked up his guitar. “I have a sixth sense about people too.” He pointed a finger at her. “And you’re hiding something.”

Lainey’s mouth fell open, but she had no words. Thankfully Paul appeared beside her. “Ready to make the magic happen, George-o?” He slung an arm across Lainey’s shoulders. “Time for a Beatles show, Lainey love.”

 

*************************

 

Lainey and Maureen were brought into the Beatles’ dressing room shortly after the first show. Girls, musicians and baggage crowded the chaotic room. Roadies moved equipment around and Neil stood in the center of it all, directing traffic.

Paul came bounding up to Lainey. “Hello my dear. I’m from the _Somerset Echo_. Care to give me a few details about yourself?”

“No time, no time,” Lainey said, waving a hand. “Just make something up.”

Paul grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. “I’ll write that you’re the girl of my dreams, and I won’t be making anything up.”

Lainey tilted her face to his, her smile spreading. Seeing him dressed in his collarless grey stage suit still left her breathless. “You’re cute, Mr. Reporter. What are you doing later?”

He drew her into his arms, his voice deep and warm next to her ear. “You, one would hope.”

She shivered, unable to come up with a response.

The dressing room door opened and a face peered in. “Press!” Neil called out.

Paul took a step back, smoothing a hand over his jacket. “To be continued,” he said, and he gave her a wink.

He was off again, in constant motion, joking with reporters and spinning that famous McCartney agreeable charm.

“Don’t talk to John,” she heard him say. “He’s cultured. He makes all his money suing reporters who give us bad write-ups.”

Ringo joined in. “We’re all going to night school to get cultured like John.”

Two girls wearing fan club buttons sat at a table, listening to everything and writing frantically. Photographers buzzed around, lighting up the room with flashes. Reporters shouted questions, laughing at the Beatles’ witty quips. The four lads were already a journalist’s dream interview. They had style, intelligence, and a group awareness and comradeship springing from a well of shared experiences.

"How long do you think the Beatles will last?" asked a reporter.

"We don't really know," Paul said. "We're just glad they like our sound."

"Public taste is a fickle thing," added George.

"Fame is a flirt and time is a thief," John mused. "In a few months I could be worrying how I'm going to pay for my Scotch and Cokes."

"Like in the olden days, last summer," Ringo said.

The other three laughed. The girls at the table scribbled furious notes.

Lainey made her way to Maureen, who stood in a corner sipping from a glass filled with amber colored liquid, no ice.

“Fancy a drink?” Maureen held up her glass.

Lainey sniffed the beverage. “Dang, girl. You don’t mess around.”

“I dance better when I’m merry,” Maureen explained.

“Makes sense to me.” Lainey tilted the glass and took a long sip, wincing as the whisky burned its way down her throat.

“Ritchie says Paul talks about you nonstop,” Maureen said.

Lainey felt her eyes go wide. “What?”

“Mmm. Ritchie and I were talking today. You’re more Paul’s type. You’re fun loving, but you have a peaceful way and it seems to be like, soothing for him.”

“I do? Wait…more Paul’s type than what?”

Maureen added more Scotch to their glass and held it out to Lainey. “Course Jane is lovely, but she’s a bit sort of posh. She can’t help it, it’s the way she was raised. Can’t say I see her with Paul, though, can I?”

Lainey took another sip, wondering if the whisky had loosened Maureen’s tongue. “So they’re together though?”

Maureen grabbed the glass and took a big gulp. “Dunno. ‘Aven’t really seen ‘er since his twenty-first.” Her accent seemed to grow thicker the more she drank. “Ritchie says Paul’s a bit narked that he ‘asn’t gotten any off ‘er yet,” she whispered thickly.

Lainey brought a hand to her mouth to cover a fit of coughing, relieved that she hadn’t snorted whisky up her nose when Maureen came out with that zinger. “Oh my god. Are you…” She gripped Maureen’s arm. “Are you used to drinking like this?”

Maureen wiped the back of her hand delicately across her mouth. “I’m from Liddypool aren’t I?”

On the flight over to England, Lainey’s brother had informed her the British have 150 euphemisms for being drunk. Lainey figured she had a lot of catching up to do in order to fit in with the natives. Laughing, she grabbed the glass. “Let’s hear it for Liddypool!”

The press interview wrapped up and Neil began emptying the room of hangers-on. He didn't mess around. "Everyone but Beatles out NOW!" he demanded.

Lainey gathered her purse to go.

"Not us!" Maureen stopped her, giggling behind her hand.

Brian Epstein, who had been sitting in a corner listening to every word of the press interviews, now lined the boys up, examining them from head to toe, even checking their cuff links.

"Remember boys, no giddiness on stage, no inside jokes and larking about. You're to be uniform at all times. It's theatre." He addressed Paul. "No long speeches at the mic. A short introduction to each song and get on with it." When the boys met with his inspection, he turned to Neil. "All right then. Carry on."

John stood apart, grumbling over everything. "This is shite. It's all shite," he complained, loosening the necktie Brian had just tightened.

Paul sidled over to John. "It's all right, John, just go with it," he said quietly. "At least until we get what we want.”

The door opened to deafening screams. The Beatles ran out, crisp and ready to go, as the support musicians tumbled into the room, sweaty and defeated.

"They were screaming and throwing things at us to get off the stage because we were keeping them from their idols. It was absolutely soul destroying," Lainey heard one of them complain. They reached for towels and slumped into chairs, their torture over for another night.

There was a shrill whistle from the doorway that broke through the roar of the crowd, and Neil was beckoning. Maureen perked up. "Off we go!" she shouted, clasping Lainey's hand.

It was bedlam near the stage. Lainey could see Maureen's lips moving but couldn't hear a word she said over the ear-splitting, nerve-jangling sound of the crowd. She couldn't even hear her own voice speaking. They huddled behind the curtain at the side of the stage, gripping each other's hands. The excitement was frightening.

Ringo's oyster black pearl drums were assembled, the black Vox amps positioned, the Beatles plugging in, the dong...dong...dong of George tuning up, John and Paul yelling something across the stage at each other, smiles wide.

"And now...the BEATLES!"

With his Hofner bass strapped on, Paul stepped to the mic, and the stage transformed into a riot of color and sound. Lainey caught the words "She was just seventeen" as the curtains swished open and the cinema erupted into one loud, piercing sea of noise that would be impossible to forget.

Paul's lips were moving, and they all seemed to playing, but Lainey couldn't hear another note. She wondered how they managed to play properly with that compressed wall of sound coming at them. There was far more sound coming up at the stage than going off of it. State-of-the-art 1963 amplifier technology was no match for this amped up crowd.

Visually, the impact was stunning. The Beatles each had a specific body language onstage. John Lennon at the far left, guitar high on his chest, legs wide, straddling the mic, knees bouncing with his head thrown back. George Harrison in the middle, standing slightly back, head down, a booted foot pawing the ground like a thoroughbred. Paul McCartney all smiles at the far right, jogging from side to side, looking as though he might break into energetic dancing at the slightest provocation. Ringo Starr behind them on the riser, overseeing everything, bopping away, throwing his head to the side when he hit a cymbal, his hair flopping around each time he flipped his head.

On the other side of the stage she had a clear view of Brian Epstein, and Lainey thought the look on his face would stay with her forever. He seemed absolutely mesmerized by his “boys.”

The Beatles sang ten numbers, taking turns at the mics. They seemed to turn it up a notch for the finale, "Twist and Shout," and Lainey actually heard bits of John's leathery, rasping vocal. As if they sensed it was their final chance, the crowd surged at the stage, crushing the attendants. One aggressive teen grabbed a flashlight and threw it on the stage. Candy, toys, cigarettes, programs and love letters were also thrown.

As the final note faded away, the Beatles bowed in unison, unplugged and ran for the exit, sweaty and glowing and looking quite pleased with themselves.

Paul yelled something unintelligible at Lainey as he sprinted past. She had to physically restrain herself from running after him. He laughed and gave her a thumbs up as Neil shoved him out the door.

Maureen had tears in her eyes, clearly caught up in the emotions of the night. It must be terrifying, Lainey thought, to watch someone you love transform from an ordinary lad offstage to the idol of thousands onstage. And this was just the beginning. Lainey threw her arms around Maureen, overcome by the feeling of being part of something so exciting. The charge of energy, the vroom of the songs coming at you, the whole youth of it and electrifying sense of excitement--it was life changing.

Lainey stood there, stunned, ears ringing, holding onto a teenager from Liverpool and wondering how she was ever going to return to her drab life of college lectures and serving coffee in a record store in 2012.


	11. You've Got That Something

When Lainey and Maureen got back to the hotel, all of the Beatles were milling about in the hallway outside the third floor lift, buzzing with post-show energy.

“Hello love! Why don’t we nip off to the beach and skip some rocks?” Paul said as soon as his eyes fell on Lainey.

All of the noise and commotion of the others faded away. Standing in front of Paul, Lainey developed a sort of tunnel vision. His smiling face was her entire world. "Yes please."

With his hands on her waist, Paul drew her to him. "Did you have fun tonight?"

Lainey nuzzled her face into the heat of his damp neck. He was clean and soapy smelling. "Just another best night of my life."

His chuckle vibrated beneath her ear. “We’re on a streak. Let's don't stop now."

They swayed together as if dancing to music only they could hear, oblivious to the melee around them--loud laughter, footsteps, doors slamming. A familiar nasal voice beside them. "Christ. Go on and give her one, Paulie, for god's sake. She's gagging for it."

Lainey lifted her head from Paul's shoulder. "If you don't stop being so rude and cynical, John, I'm going to start thinking all those 800-page biographies about you are true."

John took a step back, a startled look on his face. "The fuck you talking about?"

Paul gave a nervous little cough. "There's that Yank sense of humor again. Isn't she great?”

John squinted at Lainey. “She’s something all right. Can’t quite work it out exactly what though.”

“I need to talk to you alone, John Lennon,” she said.

“All right. Plenty of time for that sort of thing.” Paul steered her down the hallway. “Let’s pop off and fetch you a jumper. It’s a bit nippy on the beach you know.”

 

Neil had discovered a way to sneak the band in and out of the hotel through the kitchen and the fans hadn't yet figured it out. All four Beatles were in the mood to escape the hotel. George had his arm around one of the female singers opening for the Beatles, and her companion seemed to have eyes only for John.

Three miles down the beach, Neil decided the diehard fans holding court at the front of the hotel wouldn't find them. Already a pro at anticipating the boys' every desire, Neil had packed the van with blankets and cheese sandwiches, packets of crisps and bottles of fizzy lemonade. John and Ringo had flasks of whisky. Paul and George brought acoustic guitars, and soon everyone was sitting in a circle belting out bawdy words to the tune of "My Darling Clementine." The other girls giggled at times but Lainey understood almost none of it. She had little trouble understanding any of them when speaking one on one, but when all the Beatles were together they fell back into strong Scouse accents and mumbled in a sort of shorthand that was unintelligible to her ears.

"Could you turn on the English subtitles please," she said to Paul at one point.

He smiled and passed her a flask of whisky.

None of the lads seemed to be able to get a sentence out without the others finishing the thought or taking off on another tangent. Like wound up springs, they poked fun and laughed at each other and pretended to punch each other. Unencumbered by a guitar, Ringo danced around in the sand, jiving and hamming it up to Maureen's evident delight.

John reached over and helped himself to a cigarette from George's shirt pocket, then leaned back on his elbows and howled at the moon. The blonde beside him giggled and stretched out next to him.

The bawdy football songs turned into old Irish sounding folk tunes. The whisky made the rounds again and Lainey dropped her head on Paul's shoulder and joined in with the tra la la's. By the fourth slug of whisky, Lainey had convinced herself she was Irish. She was swinging the flask and singing loudly, whether she knew the words or not. At this rate she'd be speaking Gaelic by morning.

The next thing she knew Paul had her by the hand, tugging her down the beach away from the others. In the darkness with their bare feet sinking into the cold pebbly sand, they crashed into each other, all lips and tongues and wind blown hair and Paul's hands straying closer to her ass than they ever had before.

"I don't want you to see my ugly panties," Lainey said between kisses.

Paul smiled against her lips. "I'll close my eyes while you slide them off."

"I'm afraid to fall for you," she whispered, her head spinning.

"I'll catch you," he promised, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. She didn't care about breathing anyway. Who needed air when Paul's arms were around her, keeping her upright and heating her to the core in spite of the chilly wind blowing in from the sea.

****************************

Sea gulls invaded her dreams, dive bombing her slice of New York’s famous Ray's pizza, pepperoni with extra cheese. She tried to run but her legs were trapped underneath a warm, heavy tree limb. The sea gulls flew away with her pizza and the tree shifted, breathing its hot breath on her face.

Her eyes fluttered open. Paul McCartney was staring at her from a few inches away.

The night on the beach came back to her in bits and pieces, with large chunks of time missing.

She asked the most important question first. "Did I sing last night?"

"Like a bird," Paul said.

"Oh god." She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. The pillow that smelled like Paul, only saltier. His hand rubbed circles on her back.

She lifted her head, taking stock. She was wearing the same short slinky dress she'd worn to the concert. The world's most uncomfortable bra was still in place. She slid a hand down and felt between her legs. Brand new vintage high waisted panties--check. Everything seemed in order except for her pounding headache. And the fact that she was in Paul McCartney's bed.

"Um." She turned her face and met Paul's unblinking gaze. "Did we do anything last night?"

His hand moved up, massaging her neck and shoulders. "If you can't remember, then obviously not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A slow smile spread across his lips. "When we do it, you'll remember every second of it."

Lainey raised a brow. "Don't you mean _if_ we do it?"

He snorted a laugh. "Be serious."

She let her face fall back on the pillow with a groan. "You're entirely too cocky and I need pharmaceutical help to deal with you. And this headache.”

"You need a big glass of water and a cup of strong, hot English tea."

“Mmm. Just the way I like my men,” Lainey muttered into the pillow.

Paul rolled away, and Lainey felt the bed shift as he got up. She turned her head and cracked open an eye. He seemed fully clothed as well, in the jeans and grey sweater he’d worn to the beach last night.

Seconds later he returned holding a glass of water and placed it into her hand. "What's on the agenda today?" she asked.

"Another photo shoot. We're going to a fun fair and ride go carts."

Lainey sat up straight. "Can I come?"

"Course you can."

She swung her legs off the bed, automatically looking for her sandals.

"Shall I order you up some brekky?"

"Tea and toast and some of that lovely English jam would be the bomb," she said. I'm going to go take a shower.

He sighed. "I don't know where you think you'll find a shower round here, dear."

 

Lainey had finished her bubble bath and was toweling dry her hair when she heard a rap on her door. "Room service," a cheery, matronly voice sang out.

She struggled into her last new pair of granny panties and pulled her last clean dress over her head. Paul was standing outside her door bearing a tray of tea and toast.

"Drat. I hoped you'd be starkers," he said, merrily bursting into the room. He set down the tray and looked around. "You're quite tidy."

She shrugged. "Not like I've been spending a lot of time in here.” She looked at the tray, examining a jar of marmalade. “Thanks for bringing me breakfast.”

Paul didn’t answer. She turned to see him walking out of the bathroom, holding one of the pairs of thongs she'd laid on a towel to dry. He'd chosen the hot pink pair. With both hands he stretched them out in front of his face. “Fuck me, are you some sort of stripper?"

"Give me those." She dropped the jar of marmalade and grabbed for the thong.

Paul wadded the slinky material into a fist and held it behind his back. "Model them for me and I'll hand them over."

"That doesn't make any sense. If I'm modeling them, you've already handed them over. Also, no way in hell." She wiggled her fingers. "Give them back."

He shook his head. "I think not."

"C'mon Paul. I only have two more."

"Christ. So you actually wear this thing? I'm at half mast at the mere thought if it."

Lainey's eyes inadvertently dropped to the front of his trousers. He wasn't lying. She averted her eyes, hoping he didn't notice her checking him out. He did.

"Are you wearing a pair right now?" He grinned mischievously. "Show me and I'll give them back."

"Sorry, no. I'm wearing my grandmother's underwear like some sort of 1950s sex goddess."

"You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Lainey threw up her hands. “All right, enough of this Tomfoolery. We need to talk about John. And about us.”

“What about us?” Paul asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

“John first.” Lainey pulled out a chair and sat, gesturing for Paul to the same. Instead, he tucked her thong into the front pocket of his jeans and stretched out across her bed, one arm propped underneath his head.

Lainey’s hand shook as she poured herself a cup of tea. She was having all sorts of trouble focusing. Her mind kept playing out scenarios involving Paul McCartney lounging on her bed with her panties in his pocket. Maybe she should jump on him, demanding them back. They’d roll around joshing and tickling and pretending to wrestle and he’d flip her onto her back and she’d open her legs and feel that bulge pushing at the front of those very tight jeans. His hard parts pressing against her soft parts. _Jesus_. She shoved her hair out of her eyes, stood and marched to the window, heaving it open.

 _Get it together_ , she told herself. That line of thinking was pointless. She wasn’t staying here any longer than she had to.

Back at the table, she composed herself and spread a slice of toast with jam, offering it to Paul.

“I’m good,” he said, shaking his head with a little smile.

“You promised you’d help me find a chance to talk to John,” Lainey reminded him, avoiding looking at him.

“Right. How did things go with George?” Paul asked, as if he’d only just remembered the reason Lainey was here.

Lainey took a long sip of Earl Grey, suddenly feeling quite British. “Smashing,” she said. “Brilliant. I think he’s going to stop smoking those nasty foreign cigarettes.”

“How do you work that out? He smoked like a chimney in the drezzy last night.”

Lainey sniffed. “He hasn’t smoked once around me.”

“Suppose you should stay on then, save everyone’s lives while you’re here.”

She took a bite of her toast, chewing it thoughtfully and swallowing. “John is a puzzle though. I can’t quite read him. I certainly can’t give him the same line I gave George. What if they compare notes?”

“How long do you suppose you can stay here?”

Lainey looked at him. “Are you even listening?”

“Yes. Cor, I’m listening.” He rolled onto his back, rubbing his face. “Tell him the old gypsy said he shouldn’t be in New York in…when was it again?”

“December 1980,” Lainey said, her voice glum. “He was such a legend. I can’t screw this up.”

Paul got up off the bed. “Will we chance a bit of Luxembourg?”

“What?”

Paul was spinning the dial of the radio beside the bed. “Yeah let’s try a little Luxy.”

After a few seconds of static, the radio began to play a tune Lainey had never heard before.

Paul pulled out the chair next to Lainey. He sat and leaned across the table, his chin on a fist, watching her. “What about _my_ future, Lainey love. Are you in it?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Lainey put down her tea. “How could I be in your future? In fact, I should’t even be in your present. Last night was a misstep brought on by whatever was in that flask. No more of that, at least until you’ve forgotten all about that Jane chick.”

“Jane who?” he asked, reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers.

“Ha.” Lainey gave him a smirk. “Very funny.”

“I don’t know why you keep talking about Jane. I’ve only just met her and hardly know her.”

Without the aid of Google, Lainey had no idea when Paul met Jane. He was obviously on the road most of the time anyway. According to Maureen they weren’t serious yet. It made her feel better about the fact that she and Paul couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other.

“What about my future, Lainey,” he persisted. “Where are we this time next year?”

She laughed. “Where are we in the summer of 1964? Well, I don’t exist, and you are…I don’t know, probably somewhere between Hong Kong and New Zealand, or San Francisco. I already told you you’re going to make it big.”

Paul nodded. “Oh, I know we’re going to make it. I just don’t know when. Maybe we’re just a bunch of cocky bastards, but we’ve always known it. Just an inner feeling.” He dropped her hand and sat back, tapping out a rhythm on the table with his thumbs. “When does it happen?”

“You are on the verge, this very moment. You’re about to blow up. All your dreams will come true and you’ll be a prisoner of your own fame. Anything else you want to know?”

His eyes swept her face and moved down, stalling at her breasts. “Yes. Two things more. Are you wearing a bra right now? And what color knickers are you wearing?”

Lainey stood, ignoring him and trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered around every time he rested those big brown eyes on her. “That reminds me. I need some new clothes bad.” She opened her backpack and pulled out her plastic bag of old English money.

“What the hell is that?” Paul asked.

“It’s my finances,” Lainey said. “I might do a little shopping today.”

“Let me see that.” Paul grabbed the plastic bag and peered inside. “Bloody hell,” he said almost immediately, holding up a coin. “Fackin hell, it’s Churchill. When did they put a commoner on the British crown coin?” He turned it over. “1965?” His face lost its color. He dropped the coin into the bag as if it burned his hand. Leaping to his feet, he turned in a slow circle as if unsure what to do with the bag. “You can’t spend this here. In fact, you shouldn’t even have this here. I’m getting rid of it.”

“Paul, wait, that’s all the money I have.”

“Well, you can’t keep it. Fack, Lainey, what if a chambermaid saw this?”

She reached out. “Give it back, I spent everything I had on those. I’ll go through them and get rid of everything later than 1963. I didn’t think it through.”

He stared at her, shaking his head. “You have a bag full of money from the future. You’re really from the future. This is as close to being mad as makes no difference.”

“I know. That’s why we should stop fooling around and kissing and acting like I’m like the girl next door over here on a holiday because I’m not. I can’t be your girlfriend no matter how many times you say it.” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears, and Paul looked as if she’d punched him.

His mouth tightened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Finally he blew out a breath. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s no need to do a runner. Your money situation needs a bit of sorting out, that’s all.”

Lainey threw up her hands. “A bit of sorting out? My money situation needs sorting out?” She pushed her hair behind an ear with a shaking hand. “All right, Paul. You do that. I’m going to talk to John today about a deranged fan who wants to murder him seventeen years from now while you sort everything out.”

Paul dropped the bag of coins on the table and reached for her. “Calm the hell down, Lainey. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

He held her against his chest, his hand cupping the back of her head while he murmured reassurances. He felt safe and strong and comforting and Lainey would almost believe he had everything under control if she couldn’t feel how wildly his heart was beating beneath her palm.

“I’ll buy you some new clothes,” he said after a few minutes. “Whatever you need while you’re here, I’ll take care of it.”

Lainey shook her head. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” She tried to surreptitiously wipe away a tear but Paul noticed.

He peered down at her. “What is it, Lainey? What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong?” She took a step back, trying to clear her head. “What’s right? It’s all so impossible. I can’t get attached to you. I don’t belong here.”

He gripped her shoulders. “But you are here, and there’s a reason you’re here, and a reason why we feel this connection. It isn’t all about George and John. Do you understand me?”

“No. I don’t understand any of this.”

The radio switched to a news report, and Paul glanced at his watch. “It’s time for us to go. Do your thing with John and then we’ll talk.” He pointed at the bag. “Don’t spend any of that. In fact…” He grabbed the bag of money and marched into the bathroom. Lainey followed, her mouth falling open when he placed her entire fortune inside the toilet tank and replaced the lid.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “There. That’s good enough until we can take it to the ocean and dump it all in.” He nodded at Lainey. “Are we off?”

 

Lainey leaned against the wall outside Paul’s room, waiting while he changed his clothes or brushed his teeth or combed his hair or whatever else he was doing to be beautiful for his next photo shoot.

Halfway down the hall a door opened and John Lennon came out, buttoning the shirt he’d been wearing last night. That seemed strange, since Lainey was fairly sure his room was on the opposite side of the hallway. To her surprise, he stopped in front of her, shoved his hands into his pockets, and gave her what for him probably passed as a friendly smile.

"Hello little Lainey. Fancy seeing you here. You seem to keep popping up everywhere our young Paulie is.”

“Paul is pretty amazing,” Lainey agreed with a tight smile.

“Isn’t he though? He just drinks his Scotch and whistles his way through life. You’d think he hadn’t a care in the world. But we know better, don’t we?”

Lainey shrugged, not really sure what he was getting at. “I suppose so.” She sucked in a breath and met John’s eyes. “Paul isn't the only reason I'm here though. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, actually.”

John rocked back on his heels and mimed shock. “You have a part for me in your movie? The one set in 2012?”

Lainey played along. “Yes. You'll play the part of an aging rock star in a New York penthouse, still cynical but beloved and adored by millions. I'm here to make sure you get the part. And keep it.”

John smirked and looked down the hall. “Where the fack is George? I need a fag.”

Lainey heard Paul at the door behind them. “Let's talk later, okay?” she said quickly to John.

“Whatever you say little Lainey.” John looked up as Paul stepped into the hallway. “There he is,” he said cheerily. “The other half of the lovebirds of the week. Or is it month? Who can keep track.”

“You’re decidedly less surly this morning,” Paul observed. “Anyone in particular we should thank?”

They exchanged a look, both of them grinning.

Lainey blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. That wasn’t so hard after all. Whatever or whoever John had been doing all night had left him in a fairly decent mood. Today just might be the day she would try to save John Lennon.


	12. You May Say I'm A Dreamer

The daily newspapers were delivered early to the Beatles' suites at the Royal Pier Hotel. Paul and John dove in, devouring every word of the reviews of their shows and sharing the highlights aloud.

“If you want to hear the Beatles, buy their records,” advised one reporter. "When the Liverpool beat sounded last night at the Odeon Cinema, it could hardly be heard for the screams--ecstatic, hysteric, joyful, demented--of teenagers. A pity this, because the Beatles, in spite of their theatrical gimmicks, their long locks and with-it suits, have a great act. It is sheer showmanship and real ability which has brought them in less than two years from a small pub-singing group to the top of the pop parade.”

The Beatles “thumped out their rhythm with gay abandon and kept their fans on the edge of their seats,” another reporter wrote. “The capacity crowd lucky enough to get tickets stood on seats, screeched and waved; some girls tried to climb onto the stage, and a pair of miscreant women even attempted to divest themselves of their clothing and policewomen had to be called.”

“I never saw any women digesting their clothing,” John remarked.

“Better start wearing your glasses, mate,” Paul said.

He continued reading aloud: “When asked about the number of girls who faint at their shows, John Lennon was quoted as saying, ‘They need more smelling salts on tap to keep the teeming screenagers in the perpendicular at a Beatling session.”

“A reporter asked how the Beatles felt about all the screaming and Paul McCartney said, ‘We don’t mind people screaming, really, it’s all good fun.”

“George Harrison claimed to be tired. ‘Touring is hard work,’ he said.”

“Where are the quotes from Ringo?” Lainey asked.

“Drummers don’t speak. Their only noise is provocative percussion,” John said.

Serving carts full of breakfast food were delivered to the suite, George, Ringo, Maureen and Neil padded in, and everyone helped themselves while waiting for the photographer to arrive.

John moved to a table with a bowl of cornflakes and a large black rotary dial telephone in front of him. On his striped dress shirt he wore a white button with “ **I Love Paul** ” in big red letters. Lainey poured herself a cup of tea and sat across from him, blatantly eavesdropping on his conversation. Today she was going to learn everything she could about John Lennon, and hopefully when she cornered him later on she’d know how to approach him with the grim news about his future.

"How are Julia and Jackie?" John was saying. After listening for several minutes, he began talking about someone named Mater.

Holding a plate heaped with eggs and chips and sausage, Paul took a seat next to Lainey. He seemed to be always hungry.

“Who’s he talking to?" Lainey whispered to Paul.

Paul shrugged. “Likely Aunt Mimi.”

"What's Tim been up to?" John said into the phone.

Lainey rested her chin on a palm and gazed at John while he wrapped up the call. The minute he hung up the phone, she smiled at him. “Why are you wearing that **I Love Paul** button?” she asked.

“Because I love Paul,” John said, starting in on his cornflakes.

“Can I have it?”  
“No you may not.”

Her smile widened. She decided to ask the question she really wanted to know. The curiosity was killing her. “Who’s the Tim you were asking about?”

John looked up from his cereal, regarding her as if she were a fan who was starting to bore him. "If you must know, Tim is my cat. I haven't seen him for a month.”

Lainey couldn’t hold back a laugh. "Wait, did you just call your Aunt Mimi from the road to check on your cat? Do you mean the tough Liverpool rocker John Lennon is really a big ol’ softie?”

“You spilled something on your dress,” John said, pointing at Lainey’s chest.

When Lainey instinctively looked down, John reached across the table and flicked her on the nose.

“Haha. That’s the oldest trick in the book. When did you learn that, 2000 BC?”

“Why, have you time traveled there as well?” John asked with a smirk.

“Shurrup John,” Paul growled.

"What are you doing here, any road, on the right side of the pond?" John challenged, ignoring Paul's warning glare.

Lainey shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe I'm a Beatlemaniac."

“There’s something odd about this bird, Paul.” John continued pointing at Lainey. “And I aim to find out what that is."

“Let’s talk this afternoon. I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Lainey said amiably.

Cutlery clattered onto his plate as Paul shoved back his chair. He flicked his gaze at Lainey with a small shake of his head. “I believe you left your jumper in my room, didn’t you love? Let’s go fetch it.”

 

“What are you doing?” Paul demanded when they were alone in the hallway. “Surely you’re not planning on telling John the truth about coming from the ruddy future.”

He was gripping her upper arm tightly enough to leave marks. Lainey wriggled away, rubbing her arm. “I can’t just make something up with John, he’s entirely too clever.”

“I don’t want you telling anyone else, Lainey. We’ve already discussed this.” He towered over her with his arms crossed over his chest, daring her to defy him.

Lainey mimicked his posture, crossing her own arms over her chest. She wasn’t about to let Paul control what she could or couldn’t say to John. He might live in the 1960s, but she didn’t, and she wasn’t his property. Still, the best thing to do would be to finesse him, make him think he’d thought of the idea himself. “Paul, I think I’m beginning to be able to read John. He’s very loyal to you and protective. You’re his best mate. Do you think he would talk to anyone else about me if he knew you didn’t want him to?”

Paul shook his head, his mouth a tight line. “It’s too risky.”

“Not telling him is what’s risky. His life is at stake, you know. The worst thing that could happen is I would have to go back to 2012 in a hurry. And I have to go back anyway.”

A muscle ticked in Paul’s jaw as he studied the ceiling. When his gaze returned to Lainey’s face, his voice was low and serious. “I don’t want you to go back yet. After you see John, we need to talk.”

“Okay, we will.” He looked entirely too somber. Lainey closed the gap between them and rubbed her palms over his shoulders, kneading his muscles, trying to relax him. “I’ll make sure I can trust him before I say anything about…the futuuuuure…” She uttered the last word in her spookiest voice.

Paul rolled his eyes. “Don’t take the Mickey with me. I’m being quite serious.”

Lainey stood on tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I can handle your John Lennon.” She grinned at him. “Any guy who calls his aunt to check on his cat is a guy you can trust.”

Paul didn’t grin back. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He framed her face with his hands and kissed her squarely on the mouth. By the time he released her, Lainey’s heart was pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. “You’ve been spending money from 1965 and god knows what else. I want you to be more careful,” he said earnestly.

“Of course,” Lainey said, trying to catch her breath. She held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s a peace sign,” Paul said, giving her a skeptical look.

“Well, I never was a scout. But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust me to know how to talk to Lennon.”

He took her arm and led her back to the suite, where the other Beatles were now giggling over a home recording they’d made yesterday with a portable tape recorder. Apparently bored to tears stuck in their rooms, they’d grabbed the hotel Bible and taken turns reading from Psalms in exaggerated goon voices. Later they’d managed to sneak away with Gerry Marsden and record themselves in a car asking locals for directions to a golf course with hilarious results.

 

When the photographer arrived, the Beatles were smuggled through the kitchen and out of the hotel to the Odeon Cinema. Dressed in suits, they were tasked with shooting a series of photos to advertise Ty-Phoo Tea. Each Beatle was photographed attempting to spell out the letters of the product’s name and jumping from a staircase railing.

On the way back to the hotel, the Beatles spotted a go-kart track and naturally wanted to take a spin. They took turns filming one another racing in circles while a small crowd gathered to watch.

After signing autographs for a small group of fans, Paul grabbed his camera from the van and tugged Lainey by the hand away from the others. Neil kept a careful eye on them as Paul and Lainey took pictures of each other posing next to an old wooden bandstand.

“I want to see these pictures,” Lainey said, saddened at the thought she might be gone before they were ever developed.

“Then you must stay until we finish the roll, mustn’t you?” Paul said, looping the camera strap over his neck. He laced his fingers with Lainey’s, swinging their arms and smiling down at her.

“I wish I could,” Lainey said softly.

“It’s been a great week, yeah? This is all I really need, you know. Hanging around by the sea shore with a beautiful girl, playing music at night, coming home and hearing my beautiful girl say ‘you were amazing, darling.”

Lainey couldn’t help laughing. The sun was shining and Paul was grinning down at her, looking as if he adored her, seconds away from kissing her on the steps of an abandoned bandstand with calliope music playing in the background.

Then he noticed a couple of girls taking snapshots of them and dropped her hand and stepped away.

Lunch was carry out from a chippy. They ate their fish and chips and drank fizzy orange drinks while sitting on Scotch blankets on a deserted stretch of beach just outside town. Lainey and Maureen sat together and made small talk while the Beatles traded quips like they were the Marx Brothers.

The sky changed color as they were finishing up and there was rain in their faces as they ran for the cars.

“There’s another sunny morning gone we’ll never have back,” Paul said, placing a salty kiss on Lainey’s rain-wet lips before helping her into a dark green Ford sedan.

He hopped into the Beatles van and was off, with Mal at the wheel.

Neil drove Lainey and Maureen along the sea front, then pulled into a commercial area and stopped in front of a women’s dress shop. “Paul says the two of you are to have new outfits for the show tonight, on him,” he said, not sounding as if he entirely approved of the offer.

Lainey looked at Maureen. “Should we?”

“Are you crackers? Of course we should!” Maureen was already out of the car and ducking through the rain drops.

They giggled and tried on clothes, testing Neil’s patience for over an hour until Lainey selected a sleeveless A-line dress in turquoise with a bright floral print background, and Maureen picked out a short sleeved dress in pale pink. “Ritchie likes me in pink,” Maureen said, her cheeks glowing.

 

Lainey had been back at the hotel for barely ten minutes when Paul appeared at the door to her room, sweeping an arm with a flourish. "He's all yours," he said, pointing to the main suite at the end of the hallway.

John was lying on a sofa with his body twisted and his legs up on the back of the cushions. Heavy dark glasses perched on his nose and he was holding a paperback book inches from his face.

Mal and Neil sat at a table on the other side of the room, their heads together, going through mail and perhaps planning the next big Beatles escape. A radio next to them played pop music.

"I've been waiting for you, John Lennon." Lainey perched on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of John.

"That right? Working your way through all the Beatles, are ye?"

Lainey scoffed. "You should be so lucky." She inclined her head towards Mal and Neil. "Can we talk privately?"

John lowered the book to his chest and peered at Lainey. "Need relationship advice, do ye? Trying to get Paulie to pop the question after all the slap and tickle?"

"I'm going to pop you in a minute if you don't stop the nonsense. Seriously, I need to talk to you about something very important."

The glasses disappeared into a pocket. John swung his legs to the ground and sat up, the book face down on the sofa beside him. He stole a glance at Mal and Neil. "Here is fine. What's got ye in a tizzy?"

Lainey laced her hands in her lap so she wouldn’t wring them and appear as anxious as she really was. This conversation was part of the reason she was here, the reason for the ring and everything that had transpired afterwards, and she couldn’t screw this up. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“I need to ask you this first, John. If I told you something, something that could mean life or death, but I needed you to promise you would never tell anyone else how you found out, would you keep that promise?”

“Here we go. Already up the duff, are we?”

Lainey blew out an exasperated sigh. “Will you stop?”

A smirk twisted John’s lips momentarily before he straightened them and nodded. “You have my interest, Miss Spencer. What is this life or death situation of which you speak?”

“Do you promise not to repeat it?”

“You have my word.”

The words poured out, and John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he listened with rapt attention. Lainey told him everything, beginning with the old gypsy woman and the ring and how she’d woken up on the street in 1963, and ending with the moment she disappeared before Paul’s eyes and wound up back in 2012.

“I called my grandmother as soon as I got back,” Lainey told him. “Marie Spencer. My grandmother.” She waited for a response, but John didn’t blink or show any reaction. “We talked about George, and we talked about you, and I started to think there was a reason why I was given that ring, and that I needed to get a message to both of you.”

She paused, raising her eyebrows and waiting for him to respond.

John sat back against the cushions and reached in his pocket for a cigarette. “I’m getting a message all right. Don’t pick up strange birds on the street in front of EMI.”

Lainey was prepared for his skepticism. She’d thought this part through. She glanced at Mal and Neil, who still seemed to be absorbed in their Beatley task at the table. “I suppose you want proof.”

He blew out a breath of cigarette smoke. “I suppose you’re right.”

Lainey waved the smoke away and reached for her pink leather bag. In the inside pocket was her tiny blue iPod Nano that she’d brought for the long flight across the Atlantic. She untangled the ear buds and plugged them in and waited the few seconds it took for the Nano to boot up. Luckily there was enough of a charge left for John to be suitably convinced.

His eyes were riveted on the device in her hands. Despite the gravity of the situation, Lainey had to smile, recognizing the low, throbbing thrill John must be experiencing at witnessing this perfect technology for the first time. “I know, right? Apple products. Amazeballs.”

With another glance at Mal and Neil, she moved John’s book to the table and joined him on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her and facing him. She held up the ear buds, placed one in her ear and handed the other to John, waiting while he followed her example. Then she showed him the screen. “You’re going to want your glasses for this.”

Wordlessly, John dropped the cigarette into an ashtray and donned his Buddy Holly frames with their thick lenses. He watched her select “Albums” and “Beatles” and scroll her fingertip through the Anthology discs until she reached the song she was looking for. He peered vaguely at the tiny album cover as if he didn’t recognize any of the four older Beatles.

John’s voice came through the ear bud with the count in: “One, two, one two three four” followed by the heavy bass rift and the drum fill and John’s eerie “shoot me” intro. He listened through the first verse before jerking out the ear bud and dropping it in her lap.

“Put it away,” he said to Lainey, his face drained of color. He whipped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Lainey quickly turned off the Nano and tucked it back into her handbag. She’d expected John would be delighted with being the first person in 1963 to see this marvelous technology. Instead, he seemed completely freaked out.

“You asked for proof,” she said helplessly.

“Why are you here? What do you want with us?” John demanded, loudly.

“Sshh!” Lainey warned, casting a nervous glance at Mal and Neil. She noticed John’s hand was shaking slightly as he returned the cigarette to his lips. “I don’t want anything from any of you!”

He peered at her through the smoke. “What’s this message you spoke of, then?” He practically spat the words. “Give it to me and let me see you disappear.”

“Why are you angry with me?” Lainey hissed. “Do you think I wanted to be put in this position? I didn’t plan to come here…at least not the first time.” She held up her hand with the large gold ring. “I didn’t ask for this. I know I don’t belong here, and I’m starting to really like Paul, and you need to listen to me so I can get the hell out of here before I do something I’m going to regret.”

“Like what?” John’s eyes narrowed. “Do you realize you could commit the perfect crime while you’re here? Murder, mayhem, anything you want, and then you could just disappear with impunity and never be caught.”

Lainey batted her hair out of her eyes. This was not going according to plan. She scratched idly at her neck. “I think you’re about to give me hives.”

John stared at the ceiling, drawing on his cigarette. When he looked back at Lainey, he seemed to have made up his mind about something. “Marie Spencer is a good girl. If she’s somehow involved in this, I trust her. Now what the bloody hell is it?”

Lainey looked down at her hands, balled into fists in her lap. This was much harder than she thought it would be. “My grandmother…Marie…wanted you to know that a stranger in your future means you harm. Shortly after you turn forty, in December of 1980, to be exact, you need to stay away from New York.” She raised her eyes to his to make sure he was getting this. “Someone wants to kill you in New York City, and Marie…and the rest of the world practically…don’t want him to succeed.”

“Are you saying I will be murdered at the age of forty? In New York?”

Lainey nodded gravely. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Well aren’t you just full of good tidings.”

“Early December, 1980,” Lainey repeated. “Stay away from New York.”

John dragged on the cigarette, observing her. “So that’s all you’ve got? The world goes on, we haven’t annihilated ourselves in the next fifty years? One miserable Scouse bastard put out of his misery at forty years of age is enough to send you scuttling back in time with your knickers all in a twist? Seems to me you should leave well enough alone.”

“You’re kind of a legend,” Lainey said quietly. “Your music made a lot of people happy. Still does.”

John gestured with his cigarette. “That song you played sounded like shite to me, if I’m to be honest. It’s gobbledygook. Sounds like it was written around an old Chuck Berry thing.”

“It’s the Anthology version,” Lainey explained, a little bemused to be explaining this to John Lennon. “It’s a demo track, before the overdubbing. The song is so great. Some people think you’re describing each of the four Beatles in the four verses. You know, George is the holy roller with his Indian influence and his hair down to his knees…” She trailed off when she realized John was looking at her like she’d lost her damn mind. “Anyway, you are very beloved, and missed, even in 2012, and you and George are well worth scuttling back in time for.”

“What happens to George?” he asked.

“Cancer. From smoking.” Lainey looked pointedly at John’s smoldering cigarette. “If you’re going to live past forty you might want to lay off the cigarettes yourself.”

“Isn’t it time for you to disappear now? I feel as if I’ve been mugged.”

Lainey winced. “I guess it is time for me to disappear.”

They sat side by side on the sofa for a moment, staring straight ahead, not looking at each other. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot to take in,” Lainey said finally. “I thought you should know.”

John examined the tip of his cigarette silently, then ground it out in the ashtray. “What about Julian?”

“Julian?”

“My son.”

Lainey thought a minute. “He’s fine. He’s great.”

John nodded. “How much longer are Cyn and I together?”

Lainey opened her mouth and closed it again.

John’s smile was more of a smirk. “Never mind. I already know the answer to that one.” He stretched and picked up his book. “The world goes on, then, for at least fifty years, and the only thing Miss Lainey Spencer has to worry about in the future is adding a few years life to a couple of Scouser pop stars. All in all, I’m a bit relieved.”

“So we’re good?” Lainey said, smiling at him.

“I suppose.”

“Can I have your **I Love Paul** button to take back to the future with me?”

“Still no.”

 

Lainey wasn’t surprised to see Paul at the end of the long hallway, leaning against a window ledge and staring out at the rain. Waiting for her to finish talking to John, she surmised. He looked up, a smile spreading as he watched her walking toward him. As she drew closer, he opened his arms. Lainey nuzzled her face into his neck, breathing him in, wanting to memorize the smell and the feel of him. She’d talked to George. She’d talked to John. There was nothing left to keep her here. It was time to leave. So how was it that stepping into Paul’s arms right now felt so much like coming home?


	13. In Dreams You're Mine

“You look lovely tonight. You look happy,” Paul said, leaning against the railing, his back to the ocean. They were alone on the hotel terrace in the moonlight, drinking from a chilled bottle of Liebfraumilch. He stood there smiling at her, not touching her but within easy touching distance.

“I’m on holiday now. I can relax. Mission accomplished." Lainey tilted her face to the chill salty wind blowing off the ocean. It was true, after talking to John today, it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from her heart and mind.

The concert had ended an hour ago, the last Beatles concert Lainey ever expected to see, and it had been her favorite of all of them. The Beatles were relaxed and happy, the crowd was deafening and exuberant as usual, and Lainey and Maureen had laughed and danced backstage and entertained themselves between sets as the songs and the moments flew by.

Lainey had taught Maureen “High Five!” and the two of them had held up their hands with glee to be clapped by four puzzled Beatles as they sprinted offstage at the end of the show.

“What’s this high five?” Maureen had asked in her adorable Northern accent.

“It’s a basketball thing,” Lainey explained. _But it won’t be invented for a few more decades_ , she didn’t add. And now she could pencil in laughing and clowning with Maureen on the list of things she would miss about 1963.

Paul reached over and brushed Lainey’s wind-tangled hair out of her face. This close to the sea, her hair had become a mass of salty curls. “But my mission isn’t accomplished, you know. I still want to keep you here.”

Her heart jumped at his words, and she had to remind herself not to get carried away. This night was ideal for romance—the moonlight, surf pounding, gorgeous man holding a bottle of German wine—but she’d soon be gone forever and Paul would be practicing his charms on the next girl. A last night of fun with him was all he was offering. Then again, after a week of teasing and flirting with each other and her departure now imminent, a night of fun was sounding better all the time.

The wind pulled at their clothes and hair as they considered each other in the moonlight. “Are you just in this for the novelty of it?” Lainey asked.

“Aren’t you?”

 _Well. He had her there_. She smiled. “So I guess the question is, where do we want to take this?”

“Your room sounds pretty good to me. Or mine.” With his hand still in her hair, he captured one of her dark brown curls and twirled it around his finger.

“I don’t typically do this sort of thing.” She almost laughed as soon as the words left her lips. Truer words were never spoken. She didn’t typically go back in time fifty years and sleep with someone who was destined to become one of the most famous faces in the world.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He brought the curl to his mouth, brushing the softness across his lower lip.

And damn. Could he be any sexier? There was no way in hell she would be able to resist him if he kept this up. She needed a drink.

She took the bottle of wine from his other hand and slid further along the rail, taking her curl with her.

“Except…I barely know you. Other than what I’ve read on the internet, and you know what they say about the internet….or maybe you don’t.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you want to get to know me better?”

“For a start.”

He closed the distance between them, leaning a hip against the rail and resting his hand on her lower back. “Ask me anything.”

Lainey briefly closed her eyes against the dizziness. He smelled so good. She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a fortifying drink. “What’s your favorite thing to do on a first date.”

“Pack a picnic and drive into the country until we get lost.”

“Why do you have to get lost?”

He smiled. “Because if the magic is there, we won’t care that we’re lost. That’s how you know if there’s magic.”

“Do you believe in magic?”

“Every bloody day.”

Lainey clutched the bottle of wine tighter, even though what she wanted to do was turn into Paul’s arms, rip his shirt open and bury her face in his chest.

“Those are very romantic answers. You devil.”

His fingers trailed up her spine, tracing every vertebra. She shivered a response.

“You know, since it’s late and the temperature is dropping, you could ask me the rest of these questions in my room. If you’d like.” He lowered his head and placed his lips to her neck.

She made a whimpering noise. The longer they stood this close in the moonlight, the weaker she felt. Her hands fumbled between them, almost dropping the bottle of wine, which somehow ended up in his hand. He left her long enough to lean down and place the bottle on the ground behind them. When he straightened, her arms went around him.

“Favorite place to be touched?” he asked, his breath warm in her ear.

Oh my god. “I’m asking the questions,” she said. “Favorite…um…” Her mind was a blank.

“Favorite kind of music,” Paul suggested. He trailed little kisses from her ear to her jaw.

Lainey smiled. “Beatles cover bands.”

He pulled away, looking to see if she was serious.

“I’m joking,” she said. “Beatles. The Kinks, the Stones, the whole British Invasion.”

An eyebrow raised. “Britain invaded America?”

“It was more like a sweet surrender,” Lainey said, dropping her head onto his shoulder and tightening her arms around him as a gust of wind whooshed around them. “Favorite time of year?”

“Tonight is right up there.”

She gasped as he sucked her cold ear lobe into his warm, warm mouth. “Mine is Fall,” she said when she recovered her breath.

“Autumn,” Paul corrected. “We say autumn in England, and it’s my favorite too.”

“Dogs or cats?” Lainey asked.

“Yes.”

“We have so much in common,” Lainey said, tilting her head and flashing a smile at him.

“We do. And I want to ask you something, a favor.” Paul’s tone was serious enough that Lainey’s smile faded away.

“Of course.” For a reason she couldn’t name, a chill ran down her spine and her stomach fluttered. There was something about the way he was looking at her, the intense focus of his eyes.

His hands gripped her waist. “After the show tomorrow night we have three days off. I’m heading for Liverpool. I want you to come home with me.”

“Are you serious?”

A muscle clenched along his jawline. “Will you come?”

Lainey swallowed. Where was her happy go lucky Paul McCartney with the ready smile and the teasing gleam in his eye? His brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed, as if the rest of the night depended on how she answered this question.

“You mean, to meet your dad?”

There was the slightest pause. “Yeah, of course, meet my dad, see my home town, get to know each other better. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Sure…it’s just that…” She brought her hand to her forehead, trying to reason why she felt so unnerved right now. Paul was asking her to come home with him. She should be thrilled to see Liverpool. In the 60s, no less. The Cavern Club, for god’s sake. Who wouldn’t want to visit Liverpool with Paul McCartney?

“…I feel like I’ve already been away a long time—“ she began.

“But when you go back, no time at all will have passed. Isn’t that the way it works?” His hands tightened on her waist.

“I mean, I suppose so, but it’s only happened once.”

His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Please, Lainey? Will you come home with me?”

It was the eyes that did it. He turned the soulful puppy eyes on her and she could refuse him nothing. Besides, it seemed to be incredibly important to him, and what did another few days in 1963 matter? She wasn’t exactly excited about leaving right now anyway.

“Yes. Okay. Sure. I’ll come."

His face relaxed into a smile. “That’s my girl. It’ll be fun.” He stepped away from her to retrieve the bottle of wine. “To Liddypool,” he said, offering her the bottle.

Lainey raised the bottle to her lips and took a drink. “Liddypool for the win.”

Paul swigged from the bottle and replaced it next to the railing. When he straightened and looked at her, this time his smile reached his eyes.

Lainey could only smile back at him. “Wow. I guess I’m going to Liverpool.”

He slid his hand behind her neck and gently pulled her toward him, his breath falling in waves against her lips. Her fingers crept into his hair, sifting through it, and his grip tightened on the back of her head. “Thank you, lovely Lainey,” he said, and his lips softly closed over hers with a gentleness that made her breath catch.

Slow, drugging kisses, his hands roaming over her back, low moans into each other’s mouths. One hand moved up to palm her breast and Lainey felt her knees growing weak, her heart thumping wildly.

A window above them was wrenched open, the sound jarring them apart. They stared at each other, panting, listening to the sound of drunken catcalls, laughter and loud music from the floor above. The party in the third floor suite was still in full swing.

“Inside,” Paul said, his voice rough as he hauled her toward the hotel.

They paused at the doorway to kiss again, more urgently this time, as if they were both trying to get as much out of each other as they could before the moment ended.

Because it had to end.

At the top of the stairs they stopped again, clinging to each other and catching their breath.

“Favorite jelly baby flavor,” Lainey whispered against his neck.

“Lainey love, they don’t make the flavor I’m thinking of right now.”

He pulled her down the hallway, dropped her hand to fumble his key into the lock, then they crashed into the room, falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

His hand slid up her thigh, bunching the hem of her dress in a fist. He rained kisses from her ear to her neck, then licked a path from the base of her throat to her lips. “Oh my god,” Lainey whispered, feeling like she was falling from the incredible sensation of all the things he was doing to her and promising to do to her with his mouth and those talented hands of his.

He raised her hands above her head, interlocking their fingers, pushing them into the mattress, and looked directly into her eyes. “Lainey. I’m worked up so damn tight. Your call.”

 _That voice._ There was no doubt in her mind what she wanted. This man. For tonight, tomorrow and the next day. Beyond that, who knew? Her eyes never left his as she freed one of her hands and slid it down his chest to his waist and lower, popped open the button on his jeans and slipped her hand inside his briefs, wrapping her hand around his arousal. He shifted, straining against her palm with a low groan.

A grin flitted across his face. “Good call,” he whispered against her lips.

 

Shoes thumped onto the floor, clothing landed across the room. Seconds turned to minutes. Hands, lips, tongues discovering all the places they’d hidden from one another. Words pressed into skin. Teasing turned to torture. Torture turned to bliss.

“Lainey,” he whispered, moving his lips slowly across hers. “Thank you for staying with me.”

As soon as his words brushed over her mouth, he deepened the kiss. Her body tensed at the flash of pain as he pushed himself inside her, and then the only sensation was the perfection of the way their bodies fit together.

He groaned against her neck. “Fuck, Lainey, it’s so good…”

They laughed through kisses because it was good, so good. She’d known somehow it would be like this. The fantasy lover of her imagination, it was him. That flash of a dark curl against her neck, the pouty mouth shaped in an “o” of pleasure, the knowing look in his eyes when she started to come—

“Oh, God—“

Her words were cut off by unintelligible sounds, begging him to keep doing whatever it was he was doing that made her feel so good.

Then there was only the rhythmic movement he created with their bodies. Breathless murmurs of pleasure. His, hers. Frenzied cries as they spiraled over the edge and she felt herself growing weaker, clinging to his shoulders, his hair, whatever parts she could hold onto as everything else fell away.

They parted, reluctantly, and lay curled together, sweaty and content, catching their breath.

Gentle hands soothed her still-tingling skin.

Then Paul was hovering over her. “All right, Lainey love?” he asked.

“You were wonderful, darling,” she said with a grin. “On stage and off.”

“And the night is still young,” Paul said, covering her lips with his smile.

She kissed him back, ignoring the annoying, nagging little voice inside her head reminding her not to fall for this man she could never keep. She’d think about that tomorrow. Or next week even.

Certainly not now. She rolled over and pushed him onto his back, bracing herself over him. “Don’t even think about falling asleep right now.”

If she would be walking out of Paul McCartney’s life in only a few days, Lainey wanted to make damn sure she had enough memories to sustain her for a lifetime.


	14. I Should Have Known Better

They slept close together in the big bed with the feather coverlet, the window open and the sound of the sea mingled with their breathing.

Lainey awoke to Paul’s arm across her face and a heavy leg covering both of hers. He was stretched out like a starfish, taking up the entire bed. She lifted his arm and placed it close to his body. He didn’t stir. She lay there listening to his even breathing while a gentle rain splashed against the window panes. A perfect morning to sleep in. Lainey lifted her arms over her head and sighed. As much as she wanted to linger beneath the sheets with Paul the bed-hog, she needed to stretch and she needed the bathroom.

She slowly maneuvered out from underneath his sweaty leg. Without waking, he rolled toward her, almost pushing her out of the bed.

She slipped out of bed before she fell out of it and padded across the dark green carpet, picking up her panties and bra and last night’s dress along the way. An old-fashioned chain hung from the center of the bathroom ceiling. Lainey pulled it and the light from one bare bulb bathed the tiny room in a golden glow. The room was dwarfed by an old-fashioned claw-footed tub, deep enough to sink in completely and certainly big enough for two. There was a toilet and small sink and a mirror attached to the wall.

She faced the mirror, examining her reflection. Her hair was wild and tangled from rolling around in bed most of the night. Her cheeks and neck were irritated where Paul’s stubble had rubbed her skin. Her lips were kissed raw. A red mark stood out on her pale shoulder where Paul had taken a little nibble, if she recalled correctly. She sat on the edge of the tub and dropped her face into her hands, her long hair swinging forward, allowing the memories of last night to wash over her. The sound of his lilting voice soft in her ear, telling her exactly what she did to him. She could close her eyes and still taste his kisses. His scent still surrounded her.

Was last night a mistake? Most certainly. Did she regret it? Hell no. With any luck they could continue today where they left off last night. There would be plenty of time for regrets after she left him here in 1963 to fulfill his destiny while she went back to 2012 to figure out hers.

First, she wanted a bath, in her own room, where she wouldn’t wake Paul. He needed his energy for what she planned to continue doing to him today, she decided with a smile.

Back in the bedroom, Paul was still stretched diagonally across the bed, looking scruffy and adorable and more at peace than she’d seen him since she’d arrived in 1963. She considered slipping beneath the sheets and curling up to his warm, salty skin, but the promise of a hot bubble bath was too enticing. She kissed him softly on the cheek and tiptoed away. With her sandals in one hand, she stepped into the hallway, softly closing the door behind her. And she nearly squeaked with surprise.

A horn-rimmed John Lennon was sitting on the floor a few doors away with his back against the wall, barefoot in jeans and a white T-shirt, contemplating the fretboard of his guitar.

Lainey’s first urge was to leap back inside Paul’s room and avoid the sarcastic barbs that were sure to come, but John noticed her immediately and his lips were already twisted in a smirk.

"Jesus,” Lainey said, placing a hand over her heart. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Aye-up. Time for the walk of shame, Miss Spencer?”

“What are you, the hall monitor?” She paused in front of him. “What are you doing out here in the hallway?”

“Writing a song. That’s what I do. I’m a songwriter.”

“Ah.” Lainey dropped to the carpet beside him. “Can I listen?”

He shrugged his indifference. “If you like. It’s likely already on that dodgy little device of yours, come to that.” The horn-rimmed glasses vanished.

Lainey bit back a smile. The genius in front her was self-conscious about being seen wearing glasses. “Why are you sitting out in the hall though?”

“Cause it’s raining, and I dinnae want to look at the same four walls the rest of the day, did I?”

He strummed earnestly, his brown head bent over the guitar. Lainey strained her ears and her memory, trying to match the fragments of the bluesy melody with a remembered Beatles song. The melancholy music seemed to soften the hard edges of his personality. Watching him, Lainey wondered if anyone fully knew the enigmatic John Lennon.

“I don’t know this song,” she said after a few minutes.

John strummed another chord. “Sod it. I suppose it doesn’t make it onto an album because it’s shite? Or maybe Paul thinks he has a better one. Always trying to be the ruddy boss, that one.”

“I don’t know. Maybe since we talked, you’ve come up with something new. Maybe we’ve already changed the future in some weird way,” Lainey said, still not convinced it was really possible.

“Right. The future.” His hands stilled on the guitar. “So you’re going then? You’re willing to go back and fix everything like Paul wants?”

“What?” Lainey asked, trying to make sense of what John was saying. “What do you mean what Paul wants?”

“To save his mum. It’s all he talked about yesterday, when we could get away from the others, since they don’t know about your…big secret.”

“Paul wants—’’ She cleared her throat. “Paul wants me to go back in time…and save his mom,” she repeated carefully.

“Isn’t that what the two of you have been plotting all along?”

Lainey swallowed hard, with a slow, disbelieving shake of her head. John’s voice faded away, lost somewhere beneath the pounding of blood rushing in her ears. Paul couldn’t be so manipulative, could he? Pretending to care about her, romancing her, seducing her, only because he wanted to use her and her ring to time travel? She couldn’t bear to believe that of him, and yet…why was Paul suddenly so keen on taking her to Liverpool?

Her shoulders slumped and she lowered her head, not wanting John to see her look of shocked realization as the first sparks of doubt began to ignite. Paul wasn't taking her home to meet his father. He wasn’t falling for her. He wanted something from her. What was it her grandmother had said on the phone? Paul always got what he wanted?

With a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she thought back over their conversations for the past week, how fascinated Paul had been with the scarab ring and figuring out how it worked. And what about all the times he’d asked her not to leave before they had the crucial conversation he kept hinting at, the conversation they never seemed to have?

Maybe this had been his plan all along, to keep Lainey in his sight for the week until he had time off to drag her up to Liverpool and send her back in time again, to work her magic. The sense of betrayal rocked her to the core.

John’s raspy voice filtered through the fog of her whirling thoughts. “I said to Paul, you know, my mum would be so easy to save. It would take only a second to stop her from stepping off that curb—“

“Oh my god,” Lainey said, blinking away tears, one hand over her mouth.

John leaned toward her, peering at her face. “What’s this? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She struggled to her feet, clutching at her stomach, suddenly feeling like she might be sick.

“Too much to drink last night,” she said, stumbling blindly down the hall before the tears began to fall in earnest.

 

Inside her room, an anguished sob rushed out on a gasp of air. She sank down onto the floor, her back pressed against the door. The smell of mold wafted up from the carpet. Tears fell hot onto her cheeks and her shoulders shuddered.

Footsteps sounded along the corridor and a knock at the door vibrated through her back.

John’s voice sounded concerned. “All right Lainey?” Evidently he wasn’t used to girls running **_away_ ** from him.

“I’m fine,” she croaked, holding in a sob. She brought her fist to her mouth, biting down on the knuckles, humiliated that she’d fallen for Paul and somehow believed he felt the same. How could she have been so stupid?

She held her breath until the knocking stopped and the footsteps receded, then dropped her head onto her knees. The only thing to do was to get back to her family and the familiar surroundings of 2012 and lick her wounds. She’d take the train to Abbey Road, then she’d find the phone box she knew still existed in 2012 and turn on her iPhone and hope her mother’s voice or some other trigger would summon her back to the future where she belonged.

********************************

There were muffled voices, the sound of doors closing, footsteps in the hallway pausing outside her door. She could almost sense the heat of Paul’s body outside her door, his fist raised to knock. She imagined his lips close to the wood as he said, “Lainey? Please, Lainey, we need to talk.”

Lainey was sitting in the middle of the bed, her hair still damp from her bath. Dressed and with her bag packed, the only thing left for her to do was find enough early 1960s money to pay for her train ticket out of here. The plastic bag full of old British coins that Paul had hidden in the toilet tank now dripped on a towel in front of her as she sorted through the money. One pile for 1963 and older coins, one pile for the newer coins she couldn’t spend here.

At the sound of Paul’s pleading voice, she drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes against the urge to run to him. She nibbled at the side of her thumbnail, tasting the metallic tang of the coins.

“Lainey, love, please open the door.”

 _Love? Lainey love?_ Now that just made her plain angry.

She rose and stalked to the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water and patting it dry on a hand towel. Then she looked into the mirror, making sure the earlier look of pathetic desperation in her eyes was gone. She forced a smile on her lips.

_She could do this._

Paul’s hand was raised to knock again when she flung open the door.

“Whatever it is, make it snappy. I have a train to catch.”

Without waiting for a response, she left him standing on the threshold and plopped herself in the middle of the bed, reaching for a handful of coins.

Paul glanced around the room, at the money, the packed bag, the determined look on her face. He stood at the end of the bed, the muscles in his jaw clenched. “You’re going?”

“What is it that you want from me, Paul? Is it more sex, or just my magic ring? I’m getting mixed signals here.”

When she raised her head to look at him, his eyes were bruised with sadness.

She looked away. How was it that she felt like a jerk for snapping at him when he was the one clearly in the wrong? Just the sight of him standing there at the foot of the bed, unshaven and rumpled and somber, made her heart despair for what she could never have. It took all her strength to keep up this pretense of aloofness, when all she wanted to do was turn her face into her pillow and sob her heart out. But there would be plenty of time for that later. Back in 2012.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him pat the pocket of his shirt where he typically kept his cigarettes. Finding none, he rubbed his chest and blew out a sigh. When he spoke, his voice sounded tired and flat.

“Lainey. I lost my mother when I was fourteen. She went and died. And I would give anything to change that. But I would never do anything to hurt you. It’s just that…” He paused, dragging a hand through his hair. “This escapade got out of hand right off the fucking bat.”

The lump in her throat made it almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak. “What are you talking about? What… _escapade_?” she croaked, wiping at a tear. Damn if he wasn’t playing the lost mother card. As if she didn’t have enough reasons to cry right now.

As soon as he saw her tears, Paul was on the bed, crawling up to the pillows and pulling Lainey down with him. The mattress shifted beneath their weight and the neat stacks of coins Lainey had sorted flowed together in one wet pile.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lainey said, letting herself be pulled into Paul’s arms but sniffing loudly as she tried to keep the tears at bay. “There went the last thirty minutes of my life sorting that damn bloody money.”

“You don’t need any money, Lainey. I told you I’ll take care of whatever you need. What is it you need?”

She squeezed her eyes closed, biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. Her face was in his neck and his arms were around her, soothing her. But she couldn’t trust him now, not after what John had told her. There was really no one here she could trust or even talk to about this situation. The enormity of how alone she was hit her. She was so many miles and years from love and home.

“I need to go home. I mean, home to 2012. I need to see my mom and call my Grandma Marie and check my email and text my girl friends and stream some inane 80s music and post a damn cat video on Facebook.” Her voice cracked and she realized she was clutching Paul’s shirt. She untangled her fingers and pressed them hard against her eyelids.

She felt his sigh in her hair and his resigned voice rumbled beneath her ear. “All right, Lainey. of course you can go home. As soon as you hear me out.”

He shifted so that he could see her. “Look at me,” he said.

She opened her eyes, blinking through a fresh sheen of tears. She lifted a hand and furiously wiped them away.

He winced at the sight and smoothed a lock of her damp hair behind an ear. “Lainey. Sure I wondered from the off what would happen if you…or if we…could go back to a time when my mum was still alive. Wouldn’t you, if you were in my shoes?”

“Maybe,” she said, “but I wouldn’t have led you on.”

He pulled away, his eyes widening. “Is that what you think? That I led you on?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, biting down on the inside of her lip.

“Listen to me, Lainey. From the first minute I saw you I wanted you. You’re sweet and lovely and funny and independent and brave, and you tick every damn one of my boxes. I knew it was daft and we’d both be gutted in the end, but you have to admit, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other all week. It went both ways, didn’t it?”

Lainey stared into his beautiful brown eyes and wondered if it was for the last time. “Yes. It went both ways,” she said, and squeezed her eyes closed.

Paul pulled her to his chest, cupping the back of her head with his hand. “I’m sorry, Lainey. And I regret that you’re upset. But I don’t regret anything else that happened between us. Do you?”

She sniffed back a sob. “Not really. But you should have told me why you wanted me to come to Liverpool. Hearing John say it was…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“I know, I know. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would bolt. Just the way you are about to bolt now. I thought once we got to Liverpool I would show you around and tell you about my childhood and the conversation would naturally end up with the two of us wondering if we could change things—”

“Do you realize how manipulative that sounds?” Her voice came out angrier than she’d intended. But really, he was admitting he’d planned to trick her into thinking the whole time travel back to his childhood thing was her own idea.

He sighed but didn’t answer. Nothing but silence for a few long moments. One of his hands tangled in her hair and the other massaging her neck. They lay in each other’s arms like old lovers, their bodies settling against each other as if molded by time. Lainey was seconds away from believing him, falling for him, letting him have his way with her, the way he had his way with any girl he wanted.

With that thought in mind, she came to a decision. She sat up, rubbed at her face and looked at him.

“Paul. I’ll do it. I’ll try to figure out a way to get to your mom, because I know how important it is to you."

He waited, watching her silently, as if afraid to break the spell.

She slid off the bed and bent over, raking the pile of money around his legs into the wet plastic bag. “But I’m going back, today. When Saturday comes I’ll meet you in London. I’ll go with you to Liverpool.”

His face was lined with concern. “Saturday is tomorrow, Lainey. Liverpool is tomorrow, why would you go back to 2012 right now?”

“Because it will be the same time there as when I left, right? I’ll spend the week with my mom and brother and get my thoughts together, and I’ll be at Abbey Road at 9:00 in the morning on Saturday. In 1963.” She stuffed the bag of money into her backpack and hefted it onto her shoulder. “I have to go now.”

He leaped off the bed and reached for her shoulder, his eyes pleading. “Please, Lainey, don’t go. Stay with me one more night. Let me make this up to you.”

She looked up at him, her heart splintering. How could something that felt so perfect last night turn into this broken mess in the light of day?

With a decisive shake of her head, she stepped out of his grasp and drew in a ragged breath. “I’ll go back in time for you. But you and I are over. You can do what you like with my ring, but you don’t get to break my heart.”

It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but Lainey squared her shoulders and walked out the door, heading for the stairway. She didn’t look back, didn’t answer when Paul called out, “Lainey? What are you doing? Where are you going?” She just hurried down the stairs and out into the grey, drizzly day, her mind firmly fixed on the future.


	15. Beware Doll, You're Bound to Fall

Chapter 15

Tired, hungry and drenched with rain, Lainey stumbled into the same red phone box she’d used to arrive in 1963, turned on her iPhone and waited. _Nothing_. There was a moment of terror spent wondering how she would survive here with no money and no identity. With trembling fingers she opened the voicemail app and held her breath. At the sound of her mother’s voice, the spinning sensation began.

Seconds later Lainey stepped out of the phone box into a marvelous, sunny July day in 2012, still dripping with rain from 1963. A wave of emotion swept over her, and she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Everyone was already staring at her, so it made no difference really, if she sat down on the curb in front of the Beatles Coffee Shop and wept or laughed hysterically, right underneath the massive poster of Paul McCartney’s beautiful stubbled-covered jaw and huge beseeching eyes that followed her everywhere.

She was back at the hotel before her mom and brother had a chance to miss her. While waiting for the elevator, she caught a glimpse of her disheveled appearance in the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel business center. On the other side of the windows a row of desks held computers and printers for guests to use. And then it hit her—now that she was back in 2012, she could find out what happened to George and John. If her visit had an impact on them, they could both still be alive!

Her fingers were shaking and she fat-fingered the keys, needing three attempts to arrive at the Wikipedia page on George Harrison. She read the first line over and over again, her heart breaking with every word.

_“George Harrison, MBE (25 February 1943 – 29 November 2001) was an English guitarist, singer, songwriter, and music and film producer who achieved international fame as the lead guitarist of the Beatles. Often referred to as "the quiet Beatle”…”_

She stared at the screen, not wanting to believe her eyes. How could that hopeful, idealistic, beautiful boy she’d seen last night playing and singing his heart out on stage be no more? Evidently traveling back in time and talking to George hadn’t added a single day to his life. Maybe he hadn’t been able to stop smoking after all, or maybe he and John both decided Lainey was a quack and ignored everything she’d told them.

Gulping a breath and blinking back tears, she typed “John Lennon” into the search box. She sat there stunned, the words swimming before her eyes:

_"On 08 December, 1980, John Lennon was killed when his 14-foot sailboat, the Megan Jaye, ran into rough weather while sailing from Hamilton, Bermuda to Newport, Rhode Island.”_

_Impossible._ The date of his death was the same, but he wasn’t murdered, and he wasn’t in New York at all. Fingers shaking, she surfed back to the entry on George and scrolled down to the cause of death.

“An avid gardener, George died after a three-year battle with melanoma at the age of 58…”

 _Wait...Skin cancer?_   “Oh my god…” Lainey’s voice echoed off the walls of the tiny office. She’d done it. She had changed the past, but the ultimate outcome for both John and George was the same. And what of Paul’s mother? Paul’s heart was set on Lainey’s ability to time travel and somehow save her life, when clearly that was impossible.

Lainey jumped to her feet, slowly turned in a circle and plopped back down, rubbing her face. This was all so insane, she couldn’t make sense of it. Was she the only person on earth who remembered that John Lennon was killed by an obsessed fan with a gun? There was nobody she could talk to about it without sounding completely out of her head. Nobody except Paul. Surely he would remember everything she’d told him about John’s fate.

Suddenly she felt an urgent need to talk to him, which was impossible without time traveling. What could she do, contact Paul McCartney’s agent in 2012 and say, “Paul probably doesn’t remember me, but we spent a night together in 1963 and I have some important information for him…” From what she’d read about Paul’s swinging 60s years, she likely wouldn’t be the first woman to ever utter those words.

She raked a thumbnail over her bottom lip, scrolling through the Wikipedia article for anything else odd, pausing at a black and white photograph of the Beatles arriving amid the chaos of New York City in 1964. Paul with one hand gripping tightly to John’s shoulder and the other raised to the sky, greeting the American fans with an ecstatic grin. John holding his hat in one hand, gazing off to the side with what looked like more of an anxious grimace than a true smile. An always unfazed Ringo predictably taking it all in stride. George gamely waving at the crowd, the expression on his face saying _what have I gotten myself into?_ On stage just last night they were larger than life. How strange to know that two of those vivid, unforgettable personalities were gone from the world.

Her fingers were poised over the keys for a long moment while she chewed the inside of her lip, deciding whether or not to search for information about Paul. Her curiosity won out and she typed “Paul McCartney” into Wikipedia, her breath coming out in a rush as she scrolled quickly through the article. Alive and happy and going strong. Thankfully, nothing had changed for Paul. Except for one thing that seemed a bit different from Lainey’s memory. Underneath “Reaction to Lennon’s death” Paul was quoted as saying:

_“When John turned 40 we both realized we might not be around forever, and we made an effort to have a better relationship. John is kinda like a constant…always there in my being…in my soul, so I always think of him, and I’m grateful we were able to air our differences and repair our relationship before he was gone.”_

Had Paul remembered what Lainey said about John’s death and made an effort to fix things between them before he was gone? She could only guess. Maybe the bandmates’ repaired relationship was the only thing Lainey had accomplished during her week in Weston-Super-Mare, other than getting herself all worked up over someone she couldn’t have.

Who knew how long she sat there with her head on her arms and her eyes closed, trying to make sense of everything. When the door to the office creaked open she sat up sharply.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Her mother swept into the room and dropped a kiss on the top of Lainey’s head.

“Mom! Hey! I was just about to come up.”

Her mother dropped into the chair across from Lainey. “I see you found your purse, so that’s good news. Any trouble getting in and out of the city?”

Lainey closed the Wikipedia window before responding. “Trouble? Course not. No trouble at all.”

“Well you’ve missed breakfast but we still have time to get some lunch before we meet your brother.” Taking off her glasses, she squinted at Lainey. “What in the world happened to your hair, it’s a mess.”

Automatically lifting a hand to her hair, Lainey said, “I got caught in the rain.”

Her mother glanced out the window. “Hmm. I didn’t think we were supposed to get any rain today—“

Lainey stood abruptly. “Yeah, so weird. I’m starving, did you say lunch?”

***********************

All her life Lainey had dreamed of visiting England, but now that she was here, her mind was somewhere else. 1963 to be exact. Everything they did for the rest of the week reminded her of Paul.

The train stations all looked like the one featured in "A Hard Day’s Night." A walk to Regents Park from the Baker Street tube stop took them directly past a Beatles store. A few blocks away, Lainey’s brother pointed out a blue English Heritage plaque indicating a home where John Lennon once lived with Yoko.

Her mother insisted on visiting the Shakespeare Shop in the British Library, where Lainey was sidetracked by a collection of napkins and old birthday cards covered in scribbled lyrics to Beatles songs that John, Paul and George had jotted down whenever inspiration hit them.

A giant banner hanging from a theatre advertised a Beatles cover show. Book stores and record stores celebrated the British Invasion era with posters of John, Paul, George and Ringo. While shopping for cooking pans, Paul’s strangely delightful growl of “Smiles awake you when you rise” over the store speakers felt like a stab to her heart. Their faces and voices seemed to be everywhere, and she missed them all. Especially Paul.

Just the smell of a man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk in front of them filled her with a sense of nostalgia for the hotel in Weston-Super-Mare, ashtrays on every surface and lining the hallways, every room reeking of smoke. That smell that she used to find obnoxious now produced a strong feeling of longing.

As the week progressed, she didn’t wonder what Paul was doing. It was much worse than that, because she already knew what he was doing every minute. She’d glance at her watch and remember watching the four Beatles cavorting on the sand in their Victorian bathing costumes. Each night at 8:00 she’d think longingly of another concert at the Odeon about to take place. When she lunched with her family in London she thought of picnics on the beach with Paul, which led to kisses on the beach, which led to rolling around in bed, and those thoughts kept Lainey up, far into the night.

Finally Friday night arrived, and Lainey tossed and turned in her hotel bed, sleepless and anxious. Tomorrow she would see Paul again, at last.

 

*********************************

 

Paul was standing next to a black sedan, smiling and signing an autograph book for a golden-haired teenaged girl while her mother and Neil watched nearby. He looked up and saw Lainey, and his smile vanished for a beat before it was replaced by something that looked like happy relief.

“Oh, thank you so very much!” the girl crooned. “You’re my favorite!”

“Ta. Pleasure.”

The girl was still talking when Neil stepped between her and Paul. “Thanks very much. See you next time. Ta.”

The girl and her mother walked away chattering, and Paul turned to Lainey, smoothing a hand over his shirt, scraping fingers across his bangs. Primping for her. Lainey fought the urge to do the same. Then she fought the urge to leap into his arms. Instead, she stopped in front of him, an arm’s length away.

It had only been a week, but she’d forgotten the impact of being this close to him. What it did to her heart rate and her will power and her ability to think clearly, or even speak.

“Hey.” The word came out on a rush of air.

“Good mornin’, Lainey. Ye look absolutely lovely.” His voice was slow and hoarse, as if he’d just crawled out of bed.

“Good morning to you too.”

Neil handed a paper cup to Paul and reached for Lainey’s bag. Without taking her eyes from Paul’s face, she surrendered her backpack and Neil disappeared toward the back of the sedan.

“Cuppa tea?” Paul offered the cup to Lainey.

She shook her head. “I’m all set.”

Paul’s gaze swept her face, stalling on her mouth. His manner was distinctly subdued. He seemed to have left his bouncy effervescence back in Weston-Super-Mare. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Then you underestimate your ability to sway me,” she said, smiling up at him. Because it was impossible not to.

His own smile began, turned into a grimace, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that.”

“Are you all right?” Lainey asked automatically, noticing the pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

He blew across his drink, the steam curling in front of him. “Bit of a rough night,” was his only explanation.

He opened the door to the back seat and waved Lainey inside. Maureen was snuggled beneath Ringo’s arm, grinning and waving. Lainey grinned back, genuinely pleased. They were off to Liverpool, and today there was nowhere she would rather be.

*************************

“You have a dead hard face, mate. Like you’re about to invade Russia,” Ringo said.

Paul tipped his head back against the dark brown leather seat and closed his eyes. “It’s this bloody ‘angover.”

Lainey noticed Paul's accent was more pronounced than usual. She regarded him across the aisle, his pale skin set off by almost black hair, the sweeping crescent lashes that no man had any right to have. He was gorgeous all right, or as gorgeous as anyone could be with a hangover wearing the same faded jeans and rumpled shirt that he’d had on the day she left.

“What did you ‘ave?” Ringo asked.

“A bit too much o' the usual.”

Paul cracked open one eye and peered at Lainey, as if to make sure she knew that her departure had driven him to drink.

She blinked away, refusing to feel sorry for him. If he’d been honest with her all along about his plans for her, she would have had no reason to run away in a huff. It would do him good to think he had to earn back her trust. Even if she couldn’t hide the fact that she more or less swooned every time he looked at her.

They were in a private compartment on the express train to Liverpool. Lainey had snatched a seat next to Maureen and Ringo, leaving Paul to sit across from them with the ever present, accommodating Neil.

This time Lainey had arrived in 1963 armed with a few items to distract herself from mooning over Paul. She reached into her bag and brought out her sketch pad and a handful of pencils and pens. Then she pulled out two fashion magazines she’d bought in the train station for inspiration, offering one to Maureen.

“Ta, thanks,” Maureen said, flipping through the magazine while Lainey opened her sketchpad.

She could sense Paul leaning forward and watching her every move as she placed a croquis beneath the page to use as a body template for her design. In a few minutes she had a pencil sketch of a V-neck draped top with a side-ruched silhouette, cinched at the bottom to accent the waist. With a thin black marker she outlined the garment to make it stand out from the rest of the sketch.

Soon she had Maureen’s attention as well. “I love that blouse! It’s brilliant! Can I see the rest?”

“Of course.” Lainey handed over the book, nodding and commenting as Maureen paged through a summer’s worth of sketches.

“These are marvelous! You have a classic style with a fresh twist.”

“Well…I’m still learning.” Lainey couldn’t exactly explain how the “fresh twist” was likely her exposure to the last fifty years of fashion changes that Maureen had yet to experience.

“None of your models have heads,” Maureen pointed out, handing back the book.

“It’s all right. They don’t need them.” Lainey flipped forward to the most recent sketch and used her thin black marker to fill in the folds with nice clean lines. “Besides, I’m not good at drawing heads.”

“I can draw heads.” Paul was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, head tilted, watching every stroke of her pen.

Lainey finished her outlining and sat back, brushing her hand across the page. Paul McCartney was offering to draw the heads of her models. She’d have to be crazy to turn that down. She handed him the sketchbook and a mechanical pencil, which he examined for a good forty-five seconds.

“Is this what you’re studying in school?” Maureen asked.

Lainey nodded. “I’m in my last year of design school. Then I have to find an internship somewhere, like Paris. That would be amazing, actually.”

Paul lifted a brow. “I didn’t know you fancied moving to Paris.”

She shrugged a shoulder. Of course she hadn’t mentioned her dream of moving to Paris fifty years in the future. It wasn’t like it would make any difference for the two of them.

“Parlez-vous Francais?” he asked, holding up the sketchpad and examining his work. _Do you speak French?_ He squinted at Lainey for a beat before returning to the drawing, biting the corner of his plump bottom lip as he drew.

“Un peu. Peut-être que vous... pourriez me donner un peu plus,” she said in halting French. _A little. Maybe you could teach me a bit more._

He raised an eyebrow and looked about to smile. “Comme vous voulez, ma belle amie.” _As you wish, my beautiful girl friend._

Her heart lurched. Less than an hour in each other’s company and she wanted to jump into his lap and nibble that lower lip for him. Already they were slipping into the easy, flirty way they had with each other. So much for making him work for it.

Ringo seemed to awaken from his daze. "The fook you speaking French for? Is that your way of being superior?"

Neil gave Paul a sideways look. "It doesn't count as a real language if you speak it through your nose."

Paul ignored them both and handed Lainey back the sketchpad. The figure now had long dark hair in a high pony tail held in place with a scrunchy, an oval face and big dark eyes, and looked surprisingly familiar.

Maureen looked at Lainey and gasped. “Wow. There you are.”

Of course Paul had drawn a perfect representation of Lainey’s face and hair, as easily as he wrote hit songs, performed them for mesmerized audiences and stole her breath and her heart. Effortlessly. What a show off. Lainey yanked at her scrunchy, stuffing it in her bag and letting her hair fall loose across her shoulders.

“They don’t really have to have heads,” she repeated, flipping the page and reinserting the template underneath a blank sheet.

 

She filled two more pages with sketches while Paul alternated between watching Lainey and staring out the window, always with a burning cigarette in one hand. With Lainey the only non-smoker, the air was thick with smoke by the time they reached Liverpool. An omnipresent haze, reminiscent of the fog you’d see in old movies. Surprisingly, Lainey was starting to get used to it. Maybe she was becoming nose-blind, or the smell simply reminded her of Paul and sweet memories of the week they’d spent together.

 

Ringo’s car was parked at the train station, and Neil negotiated the four of them into the terminal. Lainey looked around with fascination, her hair blown back from the wind of a passing train. The ground was littered with crumpled paper train schedules and tickets, cigarette butts and bottle caps. A man in a rumpled suit and bowler hat counted out coins in front of a ticket window. A woman in a June Cleaver dress clutched a child’s hand in front of a water fountain, while the child pointed excitedly at a nearby vending machine. An intercom clicked on and off, the announcement unintelligible over the sound of the train passing through. A man stretched out on a dark green wooden bench with a newspaper thrown over his face. The air smelled of dust and gravel and cigarette smoke. So this was Liverpool.

Neil paused for Paul and Ringo to exchange greetings with friends and sign a few autographs for fans who recognized them. They were enjoying their last days of relative obscurity. In another six months, Lainey knew, they would be looking out at the world from behind locked gates, high walls and police barriers.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Ringo and the others motored away, leaving Paul and Lainey standing on a quiet residential street of row houses. Paul opened a small gate and reached for Lainey’s hand. “Ready to meet Dad?”

Lainey stood frozen next to a lavender bush, wondering when her feet would begin moving again. “What exactly are we doing here at your dad’s house though?”

“We’re about to fetch some old pictures, for the ring, right? So that you’ll end up in the right decade.” Paul was practically dragging her up the sidewalk.

Her chest tightened at his words. She hadn’t even begun thinking about how to tell Paul what she had learned about John and George. Lainey hadn’t been able to save them, so there was no reason to think she could save Paul’s mother. If that was the only reason he’d brought her to Liverpool, he was going to be very disappointed. “About that. We need to talk.”

“Of course we will, love. Relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax. I’m not even sure we should be—“ Her words trailed off as she watched Paul’s face break into the first genuine grin she’d seen all day.

“Hi Dad, this is my girlfriend Lainey.”

 _Your what?_ she wanted to yell. She snapped her mouth closed and turned her head to see Paul McCartney’s father smiling sweetly down at her.

"Hello, my dear, welcome to our home. Paul has told me all about you."

Lainey forced her lips into a stunned smile as Paul's father took her hand in both of his. The power of speech abandoned her and she made a funny little noise that sounded like "hah-huh." Paul McCartney had just introduced her to his father as his girlfriend. Surely her life couldn't get any more surreal.


	16. Let Me See You Make Him Smile

Jim McCartney gestured for Lainey to have a seat at the kitchen table while he busied himself with putting the kettle on and opening a box of digestive biscuits.

“The kitchen is where it all happens, you see.” Paul pulled out a chair for Lainey. “The front room is only for when the priest comes to visit. Which means never.”

“We’re getting a bit overwhelmed with the post, Son,” Mr. McCartney said.

“I know Dad. You can toss it all as far as I’m concerned.” Paul poured himself a large glass of water at the sink and gulped it down.

“Now, Son, you need to get on with it. There’s a fairish load of the stuff upstairs.”

Paul filled another glass with water and took a seat at the table next to Lainey with a sigh. He picked up a stack of black and white photographs. “These Mike’s?”

“Yes, they turned out rather well, I’d say.”

Shoulder to shoulder with Lainey, Paul began sorting through the photographs. “Our last gig at the Cavern Club.”

Lainey’s eyes widened. “No freaking way. That’s a gold mine right there in your hands.”

Paul glanced at her. “You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s famous.” She peered at the photograph in his hand. “I think I’ve even seen some of these before.”

“Ee aya, I think not, bah gum,” Paul said in a broad accent. “I ‘aven’t even seen them meself.”

“What kind of accent is that?”

“Yorkshire, duck.”

“Charming.”

“How’s the garden coming along?” Paul asked his father.

Jim looked out the window. “Hunky-dory. We’ll have our tea outside and take a gander. The dahlias and snapdragons are putting on quite a show.”

Paul turned to Lainey. “When I was a lad, Dad used to send our kid and me into the street with a bucket and shovel to bring back horse manure for the garden. Then Dad became secretary of the horticultural society and Mike and I had to go door to door trying to sign people up.”

“Did you no harm. Boys should be busy,” Paul’s father said, opening the door to the garden.

Paul lowered his voice. “Ya know, I worked like a bastard when I was a kid, for some reason.”

Lainey hid her giggle behind her hand. “And you still do.”

“But now at least I’m getting paid for it.”

Three kitchen chairs were carried into the back garden, arranged in a half circle before a bed of flowers. They drank tea and nibbled on chocolate biscuits while Paul and his father entertained Lainey with stories of Paul’s childhood.

“We didn’t have a car, you see, but we would have adventures on foot, walking to nearby towns on the weekends, taking the train into the country for holidays.”

Mr. McCartney kept the conversation lively with intuitive questions about Lainey’s family and Paul’s latest successes with the band. It took only a few minutes for Lainey to discover where Paul got his eyebrows, his smile, his way with words and his charm.

“Do ye mind if I show our lass some of the family photo albums?” Paul asked when they’d finished their tea.

“Course not, Son, and while you’re at it, sort out that sack of letters.”

At the top of the stairs Paul turned right and led Lainey into a tiny bedroom facing the street. The only furniture was a single bed, a wardrobe, a small desk and a green wicker chair. A huge sack of mail rested just inside the doorway.

Paul pulled the sheer curtains aside and pointed across the street. “Me first girlfriend lived across the way. We used to signal to each other with flashlights.”

“That’s cute,” Lainey said with a little smile.

He turned to face her, tilting his head. “Are you still cheesed off?”

“What does that mean? Angry?”

“Yes. Angry, bent, cheesed off.”

She lowered her lashes, pretending to study the floor. “I’ve had a week to think about it, but you should have let me know what you were planning all along. It felt…manipulative.”

“You know it isn’t like that. I want to be with you for all sorts of reasons. We sort of mesh, don’t you think?” He laced his hands together in front of his chest to illustrate.

She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. It could just be the novelty of it.”

His hand slid underneath her hair, cupping her neck and pulling her close. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You were only gone for one night but I missed you like mad. I was sweating bullets that you wouldn’t show.”

“I promised you I would.” She took a deep breath, letting his tobacco woodsy scent envelop her. There was no way she could have stayed away knowing that he needed her and wanted her. But he didn’t need to know that.

He massaged her neck for a few blissful seconds before planting a kiss on the side of her hair. “Well, I’m chuffed you’re here. We’ll make it a good weekend together, shall we?”

At a loss for words, her heart tripping, Lainey could only nod as he pulled away.

“Right. Listen, love, would you mind sorting out the post for me? Just hold out anything I should respond to.” Paul crossed the room, lifted the sack of mail and poured it onto the middle of his tiny bed.

“You’re joking, right?”

He glanced over his shoulder from the doorway. “I’ll go fetch a photo album.”

“Wait! You want me to open your mail? How will I know if it’s something you should respond to?”

He waved the question away. “You’ll know. And it likely isn’t.”

Lainey sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed and sifted through the pile of letters, selecting a light blue air mail envelope and sliding her fingernail beneath the flap.

_“Dear, darling Paul,_  
_To think that I, Harriet West, live on the same planet with the Beatles, breathe the same air as the Beatles, see the same sun, moon and stars as the Beatles. Oh! It’s just too much!!_  
_Fondly and forever, Harriett W., Manchester”_

Short and sweet and to the point. Perhaps the writer didn’t expect a reply. She placed it in a “reply not necessary” stack and opened the next letter.

_“My dearest Paul, I was in the scullery when I heard you singing ‘Love Me Do.’  I rushed to turn the wireless up, tripped, lost my shoe, and broke my toenail.  Now I can hardly walk as my foot is hurting so bad.  So I think that your autograph would compensate for my disablement.”_

Ouch. Definitely needs a response.

Lainey was opening the fifth letter when a large brown leather photo album bounced on the white coverlet, scattering letters and postcards. She looked up to see Paul standing in front of her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Chuff me. Your lovely long legs in the middle of my bed may be the sexiest thing I've ever seen. In my entire life."

She tried to ignore what his words did to her pulse rate. ”Listen, you. Why did you tell your dad I'm your girlfriend?"

He sat beside her on top of the newly sorted letters. ”We've spent nearly every second of the last week together, 'aven't we? And when we're not together you're on my mind more'n me hair is. You're my girl, aren't ye?"

She looked down, smiling. “You’re sitting on the action pile.”

“There’s no action in the post,” he scoffed.

Lainey held up the latest letter and pretended to read to herself. “Hmm. ‘Dearest Paul, the pregnancy has been confirmed.’” She glanced up. “Is that enough action for you?”

Paul snatched the letter from her hand, scanned it and tossed it over his shoulder. “Fooney, Lainey. Very fooney.”

He crawled over the pile of mail to the pillows and stretched out, patting the small space beside him. “Come join me for a bit of a stroll down memory lane.”

Lainey lay beside him with her head on the pillow, heart pounding. Even though she felt more wary of him now, more convinced that he would ultimately break her heart, being this close to him and not being able to rub herself all over him was agony.

He drew his knees up and propped the photo album open in front of them. Inside were pages of black construction paper, with tiny paper corners glued to the pages to hold the photos in place. The thought of Paul’s mother painstakingly arranging every picture of her beautiful young family, not knowing how little time she had left with them, almost broke Lainey’s heart.

Paul as an infant in his mother’s arms, Mary holding new baby Michael with Paul grinning at the camera, Paul and Michael and both of their parents sitting on a hillside, Paul and Michael dressed in Scout uniforms.

Lainey rested her head on Paul’s shoulder as he turned the pages. “Beautiful family,” she murmured as he neared the end of the book.

He flipped back to the first few pages and freed a photograph of Mary with her arms around Paul and Michael. “I was round about four years old here. This will do.”

“Paul. We need to talk about this. I need to tell you the latest news about George and John.”

He blew out a long breath as he considered her words. “Right.” He closed the album and tucked the photograph into his shirt pocket. “Neil has arranged a hotel room for you. Let’s go there and sort it all out.”

They bid goodbye to Mr. McCartney (“see ye in a bit, Dad!”) and walked out into a warm, sunny day. Sea birds wheeled above them, reminding Lainey how close they were to the river and the ocean.

Women sat in kitchen chairs in tiny front gardens, keeping one eye on children playing as they called back and forth to each other. Everyone waved hello to Paul and Lainey. A milk truck motored down the street, bottles clinking, the driver waving at them.

Paul stopped in front of a little boy struggling to work a yoyo. “Aye up. Can I see it?”

The little boy handed it over wordlessly, watching as Paul wound the string and announced his tricks. “Walk the dog. There it is. Like that. Now around the world.” Getting warmed up, he whirled the yoyo around his head like a lasso.

Lainey took the little boy by the shoulder, pulling him with her a couple of steps away from the maniac with the new toy. “Someone’s going to get hurt,” she said to Paul, “and it’s going to be you.”

A squeal of brakes and a huff of exhaust, and they looked up to see a double decker bus pulling to a stop at a nearby shelter. “Keep practicing, kid!” Paul shouted, tossing him the yoyo and grabbing Lainey’s hand.

They raced to the bus, paid the driver and clattered up to the top deck.

“Have any sunnies?” Paul asked, squinting against the glare.

“I might, if I knew what sunnies were.”

“Shades. Sunglasses.”

Lainey rooted around in her handbag and held up a pair of oversized Jackie Onassis type black glasses. “Here.”

Paul jammed them on his face without even looking at them. “Ta, love. Bloody ‘angover.” He slouched down in the seat, head back, face tilted to the sun.

Long streets of red-bricked terraced houses with slate roofs and chimney pots gave way to a mix of housing and industry. Minutes later the scenery changed again to a river of traffic roaring between stone buildings, flats and busy shops covered by old awnings.

“Penny Lane!” Lainey announced. She raised up out of the seat to get a better view. “Ha! There’s a shelter in the middle of the roundabout!”

“Right you are. No flies on you.”

“And a bank, and a barber, and—“

“Pol! Pol McCaahtney!”

Paul raised his arm to a group of girls on the sidewalk as the bus rumbled away in a sooty cloud of exhaust. “Hello girls!” he yelled, without even looking up.

In spite of the ridiculous sunglasses, Paul’s hairstyle was unmistakable and he seemed to draw more and more attention as they approached the city center. Each time he heard his name, he raised a hand in greeting, even responding “Hey what?” to someone who shouted “Hey, Beatle!”

At a bus stop a male voice yelled “Macca!” and that got Paul’s attention. He twisted around and shouted at a grinning young man on the street below. “Aye up, Ivan! All right?”

“Who’s the pretty lady on yer arm?”

“That’s our lass!” Paul yelled as they lumbered away.

Lainey noticed a couple of girls in their late teens chasing the bus for a block until it stopped again. They scrambled aboard and clambered to the top, flouncing down in the seat in front of Paul and Lainey.

“Pol! I knew you’d come home eventually.” The smaller of the girls, a slender brunette, struggled to catch her breath.

“Hello there,” Paul said, raising the glasses and squinting in the sunshine.

A curvy blonde spoke for the two of them. “She’s Val. I’m Betts. Is George around?”

“Nope, sorry.”

Val pulled a little Beatle doll out of her purse and handed it to Paul. “I made it meself.”

“You don’t say? Thank you, love." He handed the sunglasses back to Lainey, held the doll next to his face and made a campy grin.

Betty and Val looked at each other and giggled.

"I love your songs," Val said. "Sometimes I think you've read my diary because the words are dead straight from my heart."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Which song is that?"

"P.S. I Love You," Val said, a flush creeping across her cheeks.

"We try to write about universal things, you know. About a boy meeting a girl and the crazy way love makes you feel." Turning to Lainey, Paul reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You know what I mean, love?”

Lainey gave a little gasp, hoping that no one else heard it. She tried not to look as though she was tingling all over from his touch. And his words. The urge to fan herself was almost overwhelming.

He put the doll in Lainey’s clammy hand. “Can you put this in your purse for me, love?”

The blonde gave Lainey a withering look while Val took a big breath, composing herself. “I’m thinking of moving to London so I can talk to you.”

 _Whoa_ , Lainey thought. _Way to put it right out there._ She felt like she was at a ping pong match watching this conversation.

Paul shook his head. “That’s not a wise idea. I won’t have time to see you.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Then talk.” Paul sat back, waiting.

Val clamped her mouth closed.

"When do you suppose George will be back?" Betts asked.

"I've no idea, love."

“If I lived in London we could talk," Val said.

"Talk to me now."

Val wriggled in an uncomfortable silence.

“Talk!” Paul yelled.

“Sshh!” Lainey said, squeezing Paul’s shoulder. She was beginning to think he was in no shape to be meeting fans today.

"This is our stop," Paul said, reaching for Lainey's hand. "Bye girls.”

 

True to his word, Neil had arranged a hotel room and the key was waiting for them behind the front desk. Key in hand, Paul slumped against the back of the lift, closing his eyes. "Sorry, babe, I know I'm not myself."

"You look like you could use some sleep."

He opened one eye. "Are you trying to lure me into your bed, Miss Spencer?"

“Absolutely. You know me, always trying to lure y—" The sentence ended in a little whoop when Paul unexpectedly leaned across the lift and yanked her by the wrist. Lainey stumbled against his chest, gasping a breath of air just before his lips lowered to hers. His hand in her hair held her head still as he kissed her, open-mouthed, hot and hungry.

He really was the most amazing kisser. Worth traveling to England for. Worth traveling fifty years back in time for. Worth risking a broken heart for.

One hand squeezed her bottom, pulling her hard against him. She made an involuntary sound of protest, surprising because she was lost in him, needing his kiss like she needed to breathe.

“Shh.” He pressed her face against his shoulder. “Just…shh.”

The elevator shuddered to a stop. His arms were strong and tight around her. “Paul?” She wondered if she should remind him they were getting it on in the elevator of a hotel that only had five floors.

“Yeah.” He squeezed her tight and then loosened his hold. “I know.” A ragged breath. “Reckon we should behave until we have this little talk you’ve been threatening.”

Behave. _Right._

The door slid open and Paul released her. She stumbled into the hallway, dazed and reeling from his kiss. _That kiss._ So this was how it was going to be. _“Save my mum and I will kiss you breathless._ ” All right then. Seemed like a fair deal.

The room was spacious and well-appointed and, like most things in 1963, smelled of old cigarette smoke.

On top of the dresser, a bottle of scotch whisky and several old-fashioned bottles of Pepsi-Cola were lined up next to two water glasses wrapped in paper. Paul looked at the whisky and grimaced. “Not tonight.”

Lainey’s backpack was lying at the foot of the double bed. “Thoughtful fellow, your Neil.” She sat on the end of the bed, pulling her backpack into her lap.

Paul walked toward her with a gleam in his eye. “Let’s get comfortable. We have a lot of talking to do.”

He took the backpack from her lap and placed it on the floor. He stood between her knees and lifted one of her legs, sliding off her sandal. He ran his hand slowly down her leg as he lowered it to the bed. His eyes never left hers while he repeated the process with her other leg, her other sandal.

Lainey gathered her hair in one hand, pulling it off her damp neck. “Hot in here,” she managed to say.

With a little smirk, Paul left her sitting barefoot on the bed and threw open a window, letting the drone of traffic and the trace of a breeze into the stuffy room. “Better?”

She let her hair fall back down as the air drifted over her skin.

Paul dove into the bed, landing with his head on the pillow. “Come here.”

Lainey crawled up beside him. “We sure spend a lot of time in different beds.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He pulled the photograph out of his pocket. “Let me see the ring.”

She hesitated a beat and he rolled his eyes. “Jayzus, Lainey, I’m not going to separate you from that bloody ring. I want to see if the picture of my mum’s face will fit inside.”

“It will. I can see it will. There’s no need to mess with the ring until we’re…I’m ready to go.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “All right, have it your way.” He placed the photograph on the table next to the bed. “Tell me about George and John.”

“It’s not good news.”

He turned his head on the pillow, searching her eyes, as if the secrets of time travel were held there. “Go on.”

“I checked as soon as I got back to the hotel in 2012. Both of them are still gone, and neither of them lived a single day longer.”

She paused, letting the information sink in. “And this is where it gets weird. Since I went back in time and messed with things, both George and John died of something completely different than what they died of in my memory.”

“What are you on about?”

“I told you how John died, remember? What did I tell you?”

Paul grimaced. “That he was murdered by an obsessed fan. December, 1980.”

Lainey reached for his arm, squeezing it. “The date hasn’t changed, but John Lennon dies in a sailing accident in December, 1980.”

“Fookin ‘ell.” He rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “So what is it, Lainey? We sign a contract with God or the devil before we’re born and we’re only allotted a set number of days?”

“I have no idea.”

“I don’t really believe in this predestination crap, that we don’t have choices. Maybe you should talk to John and George again.”

“Oh. So you think there’s no rhyme or reason to why we couldn’t add a day to their lives? You think I just have to be persistent enough and we can keep them alive?”

He tapped his thumb against his bottom lip. “Are you saying that if you go back and convince my mum not to ignore the pain in her breasts the way she did for years that she’ll simply die of something else on the same exact day?”

“I don’t know, sweetie.” The endearment fell from her tongue. It felt natural somehow, calling him her sweetheart. She wanted to hold him, comfort him, ease his worry over his mother.

“I still want to try, if you’re willing,” he said finally.

Lainey nodded gravely. “I agree. Of course I’m willing.”

“Thank you, sweet Lainey.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and settled back on the pillow, his breaths fanning her cheek.

“But I don’t really know what to say to her, Paul, as a stranger. I’m afraid if I show up out of the blue she’ll just think I’m crackers and ignore anything I say.”

“I’ve thought it through, love. I know exactly how to handle the situation. It will have to be on Monday, while my Dad is at work. We’ll write a letter and sign it from your mother.” He paused. “What’s your mum’s name?”

“Julia Spencer.”

“A common enough name. My mum won’t recognize the name but she’ll assume she can’t remember every patient she’s ever taken care of. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

Lainey listened carefully as Paul explained his plan, how Lainey would say her mother was a patient of Mary’s and had moved with her GI husband to America, but she had never forgotten the nurse who helped her through a difficult labor and delivery. Hence she had sent Lainey to look Mary up when she visited relatives in Liverpool. Paul and Lainey would write a letter and sign it from Lainey’s mom, filled with details about a sister’s death from breast cancer.

Lainey chewed on the side of her thumb, thinking. “We can say something like, losing my sister at a young age has made me a crusader and I’m telling every woman I know to take it seriously, get checked early and often, don’t ignore the signs.”

“Yes. Yes! That’s it, you see how this can work, don’t you?” His beautiful dark eyes were so intense, so beseeching. This meant the world to him.

“I promise I’ll do the best that I can….but I don’t know if that’s enough.”

He let his head fall back on the pillow, his eyes drifting closed. “I know, babe.”

She leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips, and his arm went around her, pulling her to his chest. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said softly.

“You’ll have to give me more details about your mom.”

“Mmm,” Paul said in a sleepy murmur.

“Like for example, did she work in a hospital? Or what areas did she visit, because she could ask where my mom lived in Liverpool.”

She rubbed her palm across his chest, thinking of possible loopholes. Mary was a clever woman, Lainey would have to be sharp.

“And am I supposed to be the baby that was delivered? Maybe I have to manufacture a younger sister or something?”

There was only the sound of slow, even breathing.

“Paul?” She shifted enough to see his face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep, dark eyelashes resting against his smooth, unlined skin. He really was _the best thing that she’d ever seen_. To quote Bob Dylan. She snuggled her face into that sweet space between his neck and his shoulder. He sighed in response and shifted his head a little, as if her hair tickled him.

She held herself still, letting him sleep. Like an ear worm, the words to that delicious Dylan song ran through her head, desirous and anticipatory, a song that wants to reach out and grab your hand, make you stay the night:

_Stay lady stay, stay with your man awhile_  
_Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile_  
_His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean_  
_And you’re the best thing that he’s ever seen_  
_Stay lady stay, stay with your man awhile_

Paul’s breathing changed to a soft snore, his heart beating steady and slow beneath her palm, and in that moment the only place Lainey wanted to be was pressed up against his body in a big brass bed, forgetting the time of day, forgetting the year, forgetting about tomorrow. To simply be there in the present/past. Staying awhile.


	17. The Night Before

The second Paul opened his eyes, Lainey was ready. She twisted her fingers in the pillowcase and drew a breath.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. You know, before we fell asleep. I don’t want you to think I’m down with us hooking up again. I don’t normally do this.”

He blinked at her, his dark eyes registering surprise, then confusion, then interest. She felt her cheeks flush. Maybe she should have started with “good morning.”

She licked her lips and started over. “I mean, the other night, we were sort of caught up in the ambiance…the moonlight and ocean, and maybe a little drunk. I don’t normally hook up with guys when I know there’s no future, well, apart from those few wild months when I first went away to college, but you know what that’s like, right? Anyway, lately I’ve been so focused on art school and working that I’ve only had time for occasional random dates and one serious boyfriend. I don’t want you to think I’m into casual sex because you and I are all business now. Taking care of business. So I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

He took in her blur of words, his liquid gaze focused on her.

“Hello.”

His voice sounded low and husky, and Lainey remembered why she’d fallen into bed with him in the first place. And why she kept wanting to do it again, when she knew better.

“Hi,” she said, feeling ridiculously awkward. “Hello. Hi there.”

He smiled, and her heart somersaulted.

“You didn’t bolt this time. That’s progress.”

“What?”

“The last time we went to bed together, I woke up alone.”

“You woke up just after I did this time,” she pointed out.

“Is that what I have to do to keep you here?”

Lainey had no answer. She merely looked at him—the sleep-tousled hair, the stubble-shadowed cheeks, his perfect mouth—and tried to wrap her mind around the fact that she was _here_ , and he seemed to want to keep her _here_.

He sat up in bed, closed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms in a way that reminded Lainey of how it felt to have those muscled arms on either side of her body, pinning her to the mattress as she gasped and writhed beneath him.

He opened his eyes and focused on her. “You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He smiled. “Don’t be. About anything.”

She swallowed. “So, what I was saying was—“

He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close and making her forget whatever excuse she was formulating.

“What do you say we skip this bit,” he suggested.

“Which bit?” She squirmed against him, stopping when her hip bumped against something rigid.

“I missed you yesterday, Lainey. It drove me mad, wondering if you’d come back and knowing I couldn’t reach you if you didn’t. But here you are. So what do you say we skip the bit where we pretend we were drunk and we regret it and we wouldn't do it again. Because I wasn’t and I don’t and I would. Over and over.”

Her pulse skittered madly at his words, or maybe it was from being this close to him. He placed his hand heavily on her stomach, and she shivered, in spite of the warmth of his palm through her shirt. What was he saying? If he didn’t consider her a one-night stand, then what? A weekend fling?

She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. “See, the thing is, the other night, although it was very lovely, was a bad idea.”

His eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"Because I don't sleep with someone if I don't see it going anywhere, and I'll never see you again after this weekend. I came back because you asked me to try to talk to your mom. Not to fool around."

Those perfect lips formed into a pouty frown. “You’re saying you regret having sex with me?"

"I don't want to be your weekend fling," Lainey clarified.

"Not that kind of girl eh?" he said with a trace of disappointment in his voice.

She sighed, mirroring his disappointment. A part of her had hoped he would argue with her, tell her they were more than a fling. But that would be only leading her on. They both knew they had a few more days together at most.

"I don't want you to regret anything about us." He moved his palm lightly across her stomach, and her whole body froze. ”So if you wouldn't sleep with someone you considered a fling, how far _would_ you go?"

His breath was warm against her cheek. She stared at the ceiling without answering. She had no idea how to answer. It wasn't like she'd ever been in a situation like this before. In bed with someone she had no future with because she wasn't even born yet.

"How far would you go, Lainey?" His voice was low, smooth, reverberating past her ear and straight down through her body.

His fingers crawled toward the hem of her shirt, slowly inching it up until his warm palm rested on her bare stomach. "Oh, hell," she whispered, as his hand teased its way upwards, closer to her heart, which was thrashing around so hard she was sure he could feel it and probably hear it.

Against her better judgment she faced him, and the look in his eyes mesmerized her. He looked hungry and intent and completely confident.

His thumb dipped beneath her bra, grazing the underside of her breast. "How about this? Is this too far?"

 _That voice._ It melted over her like warm honey. All he had to do was open his mouth and turn those big eyes on her and she was putty. She found herself staring at his lips. As soon as he kissed her, her fate would be sealed. Resistance was futile.

"It's...um..." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to get control of herself, and a second later a phone bleated two feet from their heads.

"Fuckin 'ell, Neil." He rested his forehead on her shoulder. The phone rang five more times before he moved his hand from her, rolled away and fumbled the receiver to his ear. "Yeah?"

He listened for a moment. "I'm not even supposed to be here. Can't we do this in London?" Another pause, followed by a sigh. “Yeah. We’ll nip over then. Got it. Ta."

He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed as he replaced the receiver. "Neil says Eppy rang him up, wants me to swing by his office and sign some stuff for the fan club."

"A rock star's work is never done." Lainey rearranged her shirt and let out the breath she’d been holding. Her virtue temporarily saved by Brian Epstein.

 

She took her backpack into the bathroom and changed into one of her favorite outfits, one that made her feel attractive and artsy and ready for anything: a short, colorful Versace skirt that she got for half off, a shirt from a thrift store that said "Voila!" in large orange script, and gladiator inspired sandals that laced up to the ankles. She styled her hair into a messy braid over one shoulder, looked at herself in the mirror and added lip gloss and mascara.

When she stepped into the room, Paul took one look at her and froze, mouth open, eyes moving from top to bottom. "Cor blimey."

She looked down at herself, her confidence waning. "Is it too much?"

He slowly shook his head. "I'll just tell everyone you're in art school."

Her heart sank. Walking to the bed, she starting pulling things out of her backpack. "I'll change. I brought another dress that might fit in--"

He closed the distance between them and sat in front of her on the bed, taking her hands in his. "Don't you dare change. You always look like you just stepped out of one of those fashion magazines, but today you look like you stepped out of a dream I haven't had yet...but I will now.”

She dipped her head, not wanting him to see the effect his words had on her. Like a puppy, eager for any praise from him. Pulling her hands away, she reached around him, checking her shoulder bag, making sure she had her sketch pad and pens in case of inspiration.

She let out a surprised yelp as Paul wrestled her onto his lap.

He stared at her chest, her bare legs. "Voila indeed. Wow. Lainey love, Ou as-tu ete toute ma vie?” _Where have you been all my life?_

“Just waiting to be born.”

Paul gave her a rueful look. “What’s taking you so long?”

He lifted her braid and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

_Never underestimate the power of a kiss placed on the back of a woman’s neck._

She considered trying to translate her thoughts into French, but her brain was losing its facility for language the longer Paul blew his warm breath on her neck.

“Where did you learn the French tongue?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless.

“In bed.”

Lainey giggled. “No, I mean—“

“I know what you mean, silly girl.”

She swiveled in his lap to ask him more about his language skills, but the heated way he was looking at her stilled her words. Her eyes drifted closed as he pressed his lips softly to hers. 

He pulled back to look at her. “If you put your lips in front of mine, they are gonna get kissed.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Count on it.” He kissed her again, longer and harder. "Mm. You smell like citrus and taste like cherries.”

“Cherry lip gloss,” she managed to say, her head still whirling from the kiss.

“I've seen the future, Lainey, and I like it. I like it a lot.”

He slid his hands down her back, squeezing her waist. "I could tell Neil I can't make it. We could stay in..."

If she had ever had a more tempting offer in her life, the memory had escaped her. Somehow she managed to disentangle herself from his arms and get to her feet, wobbling a little as she stepped away.

“Wow, that nap seemed to work wonders for you. You’re feeling better then?”

“Like a champion, Lainey love.” He grinned at her. And did that little wink thing.

Lainey sighed and pulled her bag onto her shoulder. The longer they were together, the more likely it seemed that this day would end with her flat on her back with her legs in the air, and the idea of getting naked and rolling around again with Paul was sounding better all the time. Why fight it? They were as attracted to each other as ever. Yes, he should have been honest from the beginning about his time-travel intentions for her. But when they were together he was sweet and attentive and made her feel sexy and desirable and interesting and more alive than she’d ever felt. It was clearly impossible to say no to him, but at least she was going to have dinner first.

“I’ve seen your future too. The part where you wine me and dine me. You know the rest,” she said, walking to the door and smiling over her shoulder. “Actually if you wine me, you may not have to dine me.”

“I’ll wine you, dine you, dance you and romance you, and make you forget all about the future.”

Before she could open the door he stopped her, turned her around to face him, gripping her shoulders. “Do you know what I was thinking about last night?”

“That you hate your liver?”

He ignored that. “If we were a normal couple, we’d be halfway to falling arse over tits in love. Imagine how much fun we’d be having right now if you weren't threatening to disappear.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

He slid his hands down her arms and lightly held onto her wrists. His fingers felt warm on her skin, and she shivered at the memory of all the things those fingers had done when they were last together.

“I’ve been fascinated with you since the day we met, even before we took our clothes off. What do you say we stop talking about the past and the future and start appreciating the fact that out of three billion people on this planet, we somehow found each other, in the present.”

“You mean…just for the weekend?”

He arched a brow. “Well, that’s up to you, innit? I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one with the magic ring.”

“Oh, but you are going somewhere, Paul. You really have no idea how your life is about to—“

“Ssh! No more excuses,” he murmured, just before his lips found hers again, and Lainey ran out of excuses.


	18. I Knew We Were Falling in Love

Paul was a new man after his nap. On the short walk to Brian’s office, he called out to friends, yodeled for no reason, barked at dogs, whistled “Star Dust,” and generally drew attention to himself.

The telephone was ringing when they entered Brian’s second floor office. Brian’s secretary, Freda Kelly, seemed startled to see Paul stride in with Lainey by the hand, but after a quick introduction, her face was wreathed in smiles as she settled the two of them in front of her desk with steaming mugs of tea.

Pretty dark-haired Freda was full of questions about life in London and how the tour was going. Paul dutifully signed his name to stacks of photographs and letters and regaled her with tales of the road. Freda had her own stories of obsessed fans and strange requests that came pouring into the office via sacks of mail and constant phone calls.

They were frequently interrupted by the telephone, which seemed to ring nonstop. Freda manned the office and patiently fielded the calls by herself, saying things like: “None of the Beatles are married as far as I know, luv” and “the boys try to read as much of the post as they can and they love getting letters” and repeatedly giving out the address of the fan club.

“Just a wee lock of hair?” Freda pleaded as Paul rose to leave.

“Absolutely not,” Paul said, with an air that made Lainey think they’d had this conversation before.

“You can’t imagine how many requests I get for your hair.”

“I’d be right bald by now, Freda. Give them your hair then. Just say it’s some of ours.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”

Outside on the street, Paul was soon accosted by two teenagers who wanted his autograph.

“We saw you play the Empire!” one girl said, nearly shouting. “Cor, you were brilliant!”

Her friend nodded in silent agreement.

“Ta,” Paul said, signing the backs of store receipts the fans offered.

The first girl’s stare never wavered from Paul’s face, while her friend seemed to be torn between watching Paul and taking in every detail of Lainey’s appearance.

“See you around, Luvs,” Paul said, handing back the receipts.

The girls stood there staring at him, not wanting to leave. Paul turned to Lainey. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded. “Starving.”

“There’s a proper pub down the road. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sounds lovely.”

The two fans watched this exchange as if it were a movie. Finally they took the hint and stepped back. “You were brilliant,” the one girl said one last time, over her shoulder, with conviction. “Brilliant.”

“Ta,” Paul said.

“Bye,” Lainey said.

A few blocks away Paul led Lainey into a cozy little pub tucked away on a side street. Every head turned as they entered. Eyes fastening on Paul, lighting up with recognition, then assessing Lainey from head to toe. She blinked, adjusting to the darkness, while Paul raised a hand in greeting to a group of men his age at the bar.

They were welcomed by a waitress who smiled warmly at Paul. She was a pretty girl, too much makeup and a generous bosom. She seated them in a quiet alcove in the back of the pub, mostly hidden from the others. “What can I do ye, Luv?” she asked, and Lainey couldn’t help noticing how she pulled her shoulders back and thrust her breasts in their direction.

“Two pints of golden ale. Ta,” Paul said.

The waitress moved away, swinging her hips a bit more than necessary. Paul’s eyes followed her for a few seconds before he turned in his seat and smiled at Lainey with his full attention. They were sitting side by side on a dark leather bench beneath a row of stained glass windows cracked open to allow an exhaust-tinged breeze to waft in from the street. Dark wood paneled walls were lined with fascinating photos of old Liverpool.

“Charming place,” Lainey said. “Looks like it has a lot of history.”

“It’s a real proper tavern. Colorful characters. Good landlord. Hitler may or may not have had a pint of ale here.”

Lainey raised a brow. “I’m not sure about that endorsement.”

“They say he visited his half-brother in Liverpool to escape conscription into the army. Jack the Ripper may have been here as well.”

“You’re just full of good news.”

Paul stretched his arm across the back of the booth, his fingers brushing Lainey’s shoulder. “Has a few ghosts too, you know. One is a Spanish sailor who was stabbed in here in the 1700s.”

“How many pints do you usually drink before you see the Spanish sailor?” Lainey joked.

He smiled. “I’ve put away a few pints here. It’s quiet during the afternoon, but it perks up on an evening.”

“Kind of like you,” Lainey said, smiling at her own joke.

Their drinks arrived, they ordered a hot pie for Paul and Irish stew made with Guiness for Lainey, and Paul held court as acquaintances stopped by their table to chat.

Lainey was introduced as “Our Lass from America” to Pete and Davey, and the three men bantered and reminisced, with Lainey understanding little of their strong accents—the rolled r’s and sing-song quality of their conversation peppered with local slang.

They talked of “getting bevied” and being “drunk as lords on Pernod and Coke” and “stumbling about, mad as a box of frogs” and how they’d ”lost the ability to count or stand upright.”

Paul pulsed with a cheerful energy, his leg thumping the floor with the hyperactivity she remembered from the last week, a boyish vigor that let her picture him leading a gang of playground antics not so many years ago.

He tried to include Lainey in the conversation, telling her “All you needed for a teen-aged party was a stack of the latest Tamla Motown hits and a Watneys Party Seven, a can of beer just one pint shy of a gallon.”

“And a pint of advocaat to mix with lemonade,” Pete added.

“Oh yeah,” Paul remembered. “To make snowballs for the girls, because they were dead sophisticated.”

When the conversation turned to England losing the cricket to India, Paul’s eyes seemed to glaze over. Pete and Davey began arguing over their recollections of the match.

“What a lorra shite! Wa je on about?”

“Yer off yer cake, ye divy!”

Paul turned to Lainey, nodding at her glass. “How’s yer ale?”

Lainey took another sip and tried to remember how her brother had described the local ale on one of their nights out in Oxford. “Well kept and served in perfect condition.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Why do you keep introducing me as ‘Our Lass’?” she asked.

“It means you’re my girlfriend.”

She looked down at her glass, trying to hide her grin.

Their food arrived, and Pete and Davey bid their goodbyes, leered at the waitress and followed her back to the bar.

The aroma of the steaming bowl of stew made Lainey’s mouth water. It looked and smelled like the perfect comfort food. She brought a spoonful to her mouth and almost groaned with contentment. It tasted even better than it smelled. “Mm. So good.”

Keeping his eyes on her, Paul unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling up his sleeves. “This might be our first proper date. Away from the other blokes, I mean.”

She met his eyes. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

“So tell me, Lainey. What else do you like to do? When you’re not time traveling or posing as the sexiest art student on five continents.”

“I like hiking, going to the beach, concerts, you know, the usual stuff.” She swallowed another mouthful of stew. “This stew is amazing. How about you?”

“I don’t know if I’d call myself amazing, but I try.”

She laughed and tore off a piece of soda bread. “No, I mean when you’re not writing and playing music, what do you like to do?”

“Ah, I have a diverse range of talents and interests. I grow my own vegetables. I fell trees and turn them into chainsaw art, and I’m training to star in the next Tarzan movie, which I think will be a natural fit for my abilities and my physique.”

“You’re a busy man.”

He shrugged. “Keeps me off the dole.” Instead of eating, he seemed to be watching her eat. She paused, the bread halfway to her mouth. “What?”

He smiled. “Whoever you are, Lainey Spencer, you have the most beautiful hands. Do you play the piano as well as the guitar?”

“I don’t play either of them all that well, but I dabble in the piano, yes.” She smiled at him and watched something spark in his eyes.

“We should play together sometime.”

“I’d like that,” she said, wondering if they were still talking about the piano.

His finger made a slow journey around the rim of his glass, circling one way and then the other. He leaned toward her, ignoring his food. “So would I.”

Lainey felt something surge from her brain to her lower belly. “Aren’t you going to eat your hot pie?”

A slow smile tilted his lips. “At the very first opportunity.”

They were definitely not talking about food any more. She put down the bread and reached for her glass of ale, fighting the urge to press the cold glass to the back of her neck. It was warm in here. She took a gulp of the ale and licked her lips.

He stared directly into her eyes. “I can’t wait to feel you again.”

 _Oh my god._ “Um,” she said. “Wow.”

He tilted his head, watching her with a hint of amusement at her discomfort, his knee pressed against hers. She suddenly lost all interest in the most delicious stew she’d ever eaten.

“Fancy another Golden?” The waitress cocked one hip and bent over to collect Paul’s empty glass, her chest only inches from his face.

Paul barely glanced at her. “Two more, thanks.”

“Sure thing, Luv.”

The waitress walked away, and Lainey pushed Paul’s plate of food closer. “Eat up. Enough romancing me. You promised to dance me.”

“The night is young,” he said with a wink.

 

The sun was setting on a pleasantly warm evening when they left the pub, wandering through the narrow streets in search of a club playing music. They followed the soulful sound of blues music down a short flight of stone steps into a dark smoky club lit mainly by candles at small tables. Every eye was drawn to Paul, and afterwards to Lainey top to bottom. Once again she felt as if she was being appraised. _Who was this strange girl on the arm of the local boy who’d made it big on radio and on the telly?_ she imagined the clientele thinking.

The crowd was considerably older, and although many seemed to recognize Paul, they left him alone. A waitress brought them a round of drinks and they sat close with their knees pressed together, smiling at each other and talking over the music.

They talked about first date things—about their families, funny childhood memories, places they’d visited and places they wanted to go. They people watched and watched the band, but mostly they watched each other.

They’d finished their drinks when Paul noticed Lainey waving smoke away from her face and stood, reaching for her hand. “I want to show you something.”

A short bus ride later they were strolling through black iron Victorian gates into a large landscaped park.

Bits of hair escaped her braid, blowing wildly around her cheeks, straying into her mouth. Paul pulled her close. Slowly, one by one, he tucked the strands of hair behind her ears. The tender touch of his hands flooded her with warmth. Looking at him in the darkness, as clouds scuttled across the moon, felt like standing too close to the edge of a cliff. The look on his face told her he felt just as woozy.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, and he took her hand and began to dance her across the grass, humming a Strauss waltz.

“You can waltz?”

“Course I can. I took lessons with my mate when we were fourteen. We didn’t care about dancing. We just wanted to hold girls in our arms, you see.”

“You’re devilishly clever, Mr. McCartney.”

He began to sing an Irish lullaby, making it sound somehow seductive and bluesy. Lainey wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, his gorgeous deep voice vibrating through her. Everything parents don’t want you to get into as a teenager, that’s what she could hear in Paul’s voice. Everything you love about the night, about love and desire, all those hidden sides of her, that’s what his voice called up. If they could make a drug that was Paul McCartney’s voice in her ear, she’d never be sober.

She was practically trembling when the song ended. If she were a smoker, she would have needed a cigarette. She sighed in his arms and he pulled away slightly, smiling down at her.

“It’s been ages since I’ve wanted to spend a Saturday night just standing around in a park dancing under the stars with someone. But I do. With you.”

Lainey tucked her face into his shoulder again so he couldn’t see her grinning like a lovestruck fan girl.

And then it began to sprinkle. "Uh oh, we're going to get wet."

She clung to him, laughing into his shoulder as they continued to twirl over the pathway. He danced her to an old wooden covered bandstand, where they shook the rain from their hair and sank down crosslegged onto the planks, holding hands as they caught their breath.

“Will you tell me something I’ve always wanted to know?” Lainey asked.

“Of course.”

“Your singing voice was so beautiful just now, so clear and polished. But I’ve heard your throat-shredding voice in “Long Tall Sally” where you scream it. How do you change your voice like that?”

“My Little Richard voice?”

She nodded.

He shrugged. “After I heard Little Richard's records, I just tried it out one day and found I could emulate his screams and singing fairly well. I’m a good mimic, that’s all.”

“But I’ve heard people talk about your rock voice, wondering at the technique. You’re like an impressionist painter with your voice. It’s more than mimicking someone.”

“You just have to let loose and let every ounce of inhibition out of your mind and body. I was practically just out of middle school when I realized I could do it, and I would break it out randomly throughout the school day on unsuspecting teachers and friends. So really, I got better at it by being a bit of a spaz, just trying to startle people.”

Lainey laughed. “I'm sure that helped make it natural and effortless for you to hit those crazy screams later on in life.”

“It’s just rock ’n’ roll, Lainey.”

“What were you like as a kid? Were you popular?”

He looked thoughtful. “I dunno. I guess. I liked getting off by myself though, trolling through the woods, carrying a stick for a bayonet, pretending to be a soldier on patrol. I used to hide in trees and spy on everyone, keeping very still and quiet.”

“Mm. Good preparation for hiding from packs of girls.”

“I used to have imaginary conversations with my commanding officers, figuring out how I was going to tell them that I couldn’t kill anyone. I grew up expecting I would have to go into the Army. But then conscription ended. I didn’t have to join the Army, so I could become a Beatle.”

She reached up a hand and let her fingers trail through his damp hair. “I’m so glad the Army didn’t get hold of this hair. I rather like it.’

The rain had become a slow drizzle when Paul leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Let's go back to the hotel, I want to kiss you so hard you can’t get the taste of me out of your mouth."

Lainey thought about it for an entire second before she nodded her head yes.

Before she could get to her feet, he began untying her sandals and slipped them off. Then he toed off his shoes, pulled off his socks and balled them up inside his shoes.

They skipped barefoot through the wet grass, laughing and singing and pausing at the gates to kiss cold wet lips and don their shoes.

 

In the room he kicked off his shoes again and sat on the bed, pulling her onto his lap, straddling him. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath whispering across her lips, and she felt his hands warm on her back, sliding up to the clasp of her bra. She felt it pop open.

Her eyes lifted to his, giving him permission. With a sweep of his hands, he lifted her shirt up and over her head and her bra tumbled over her arms.

His breath came faster now across her lips, and his mouth softly met hers. His hands moved up her ribs to cup her breasts, and he made a low sound, deep in his throat.

Then he was rolling them over onto the bed, rain-soaked clothes landing in piles on the carpet—his shirt, her skirt, his trousers and briefs, their shoes and sandals. He pulled off her panties and paused, drinking in the sight of her naked body.

“Fook me. You’re so lovely.” His voice was a growl, and Lainey nearly groaned at the sound of it. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled him down on top of her. Their bodies were cool and clammy, her softness straining against his hardness.

“Please,” she said, panting. “Hurry.”

He grasped her hands in his, lacing his fingers through hers and looking into her eyes, watching her face as he pushed himself inside her. She gasped, wincing as her body adjusted to him. Lainey felt so many things at that moment, she couldn’t focus on just one. Each slow grind of Paul’s hips making her feel hotter and so full, his breath warm against her flushed skin, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

Then his eyes closed and he groaned with frustration. “I’ll never last, Lainey. I’m not used to you yet.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, pulling his face into her hair, muffling the sound of her name falling from his lips as he came. “We’ll do it again. And again.”

And they did. Again and again, until they finally fell apart, sated and damp, panting into each other’s mouths, lazily pressing kisses onto chapped lips. They kissed until they had to stop because Paul was laughing, happiness on his face, affection in his eyes, and Lainey let her eyes drift closed, feeling herself falling in love.


	19. If You're Mine

Lainey's first waking thoughts were of Paul. The way he'd looked at her last night when they were in bed. His hands and lips exploring every inch of her flesh, the way his body responded to her every touch. The words he'd whispered into her ear...she nearly shivered with the memory of it.

With a smile on her lips she rolled over...and found herself alone in the rumpled sheets of the double bed. She sat up, checked the alarm clock on the night table, and listened for any sounds coming from the bathroom. Nothing. Paul was already gone, and it was barely nine in the morning. Sighing, she rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in his pillow, comforting herself with the smell of him.

Last night had been the sweetest, most romantic date of her life, followed by a marathon session of lovemaking and ending with Lainey's legs thrown over Paul's, her feet tucked behind his thighs, his body curled around hers, his lips pressed to her neck, as if she were sitting in his lap while they were both lying down. "We fit," Paul had whispered, and Lainey had marveled at the truth of it, a blissful smile on her face.

Then she awoke to find him gone. She groaned into the pillow. Where was he?

The rain had brought cooler weather, and Lainey roused herself to stumble to the window and shove it closed. She gathered bits of clothes from the floor on her way to the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Wild hair, chapped lips, reddened cheeks and neck from beard burn, and the sleepy, contented look of someone who had been well and thoroughly loved.

Waking up together would have been nice, but apparently Lover Boy had something more important to do this morning. Blowing out a sigh, she dug in her backpack for her toothbrush and toothpaste and the small bottle of bubble bath she’d bought in Weston Super Mare.

Twenty minutes later, Lainey opened the door of the rose-scented, humid bathroom to see Paul struggling with two paper cups full of a steaming beverage, a paper sack and an acoustic guitar strapped to his back. "I brought brekky," he said. "And I've written a little ditty, rhyming Lainey with love. Do you fancy a bit of..."

His words trailed off when he looked up and saw her, flushed and damp from her bath, knotting a towel over her breasts. He groaned. “Fook me sideways. The more I see of you the more I want.”

"Hi. I missed you." Her unused morning voice came out in a croak. The way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to devour her, sent a rush of heat coursing through her.

Breakfast was left on the nightstand, the guitar abandoned, and Paul was standing in front of her, staring directly into her eyes, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. “So. What’s under the towel?”

She looked down, her hands still clutching the knot at her chest. “Nothing.”

A brow lifted. “Nothing? A sexy little thing like you has got to have more than ‘nothing’ under her towel.”

She looked back at him silently, waiting. He leaned toward her. “Let’s see this ‘nothing’.”

She watched his hand wordlessly, her heart pounding, as he reached for the knot that held the towel in place, twisting it loose.

A low whistle of approval as his eyes wandered all over her. The towel fell unnoticed to the floor.

“That doesn’t look like nothing to me. I wonder. Do you taste as good as you look?”

“Only one way to find out,” Lainey whispered, her heart hammering as she leaned into a kiss. His lips slotted against hers perfectly. They were experts at this now, this kissing game, having spent hours nibbling, biting, licking, discovering. She opened her mouth, letting his tongue play with hers.

Paul ran his hands lightly over her skin, from her waist and up over her ribs. She shuddered lightly as he caressed her breasts, then moved his hands up to her shoulders, down her arms, stopping at her elbows and pulling her to his chest.

He raised his head to look at her. “Come here, my sexy girlfriend.” His voice was a low growl.

Lainey slid her arms around his neck, taking a handful of his hair and pulling his head back down for another kiss. They kissed, exploring each other with their hands, Paul’s hands wandering the length of her body and always returning to her breasts.

“Too many clothes,” she murmured, one hand working at the buttons of his shirt.

He shrugged out of his shirt and she pressed her hands flat against the muscles of his chest, feeling his heart thumping as hard as hers. She reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, but he broke the kiss and moved out of her reach as he kissed a trail down her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts, licking underneath her left breast while he palmed the other, teasing her as he started a slow spiral of kissing and licking until he reached the nipple.

A sigh left her lips and she trembled at the gentle sucking sensation as he pulled the flesh into his mouth and let his tongue play around the nipple. The pressure eased, he released her breast and blew cool breath on her nipple, then started the whole procedure again, drawing a gasp from her.

“You’re like a new toy,” he said, skimming his hands down her sides and lowering himself to his knees in front of her. “And it’s like Christmas in July.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered, both hands now in his hair as he kissed his way down her belly and lower, the sensation of his tongue licking and lapping while his expert fingers explored and teased, bringing her to the edge and pulling back until Lainey thought her knees would collapse.

“Please,” she begged, pulling at his hair, vaguely wondering if she was hurting him.

“Please what?” he said, looking up at her with those eyes. Those eyes she loved.

“The bed.”

In one smooth motion Paul was on his feet, lifting Lainey so that her legs were wrapped around his hips, walking the two steps to the bed and bouncing them down on top of it, while she groaned at the feel of his jeans rubbing against her sensitive flesh.

They rolled together to the middle of the bed and she pushed her hands between them, reaching for his jeans, trying to get him naked and inside her, moaning and half wild with wanting him again.

Then she noticed he had stopped moving and opened her eyes to see him smiling at down at her. “It’s been confirmed. You do taste as good as you look.”

“Mm. Good.” She pulled his face down to hers, tasting herself on his lips, fumbling again with the damn belt buckle. He broke the kiss and looked soul deep into her eyes. “And Lainey? Something else. I’m mad about you. Almost to the point of ‘I love you’ mad about you.”

Her hands stilled and she stopped breathing. And her heart stopped beating. Because there was no way he just said that.

“Okay…” she managed to whisper.

“Okay?” That gorgeous mouth she loved was smiling down at her, an eyebrow raised, teasing her.

“Later,” she said, her hands resuming their ministrations on his belt. “We’ll talk. Later.”

He laughed and rolled away slightly, giving her access, cooperatively helping her remove the rest of his clothing, until finally he was naked and in her hands and she was pulling him inside her.

And it was only then, lying beneath him as he began the rhythm they’d perfected all night long, she pulled his face close to hers and closed her eyes and wondered “did he just say he practically loved me?” But those thoughts soon vanished and she could think of nothing but the magic they made together.

 

Afterwards he held her close, combing his fingers through her damp hair. "I don't want you to leave."

Lainey was silent. She had no idea what to say. Where was this going? Where could it possibly go?

“What will you do, after tomorrow?” he asked, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

“I have to go back home. You have to go back on the road, and I can't just keep following you from town to town."

His fingers in her hair stilled. "But you'll come back, won't you?"

She swallowed. “See the thing is, when I left 2012 it was the end of our week in England. We only have two more days here. So...I'll be in Virginia from now on."

He nodded. ”All right then. You can leave the ring with me. I'll come to you."

Instinctively, Lainey twisted the ring so that it faced her palm and curled her hand into a fist. “No, you absolutely cannot time travel. You’ll mess up history.”

“We don't know that.” He was stroking her arm, his fingers trailing to the hand that wore the ring.

She shook her head vigorously. “You coming to the future is not an option."

“Why are you being so bloody hard-headed?”

And there it was. Only moments after Paul had told her he was mad about her almost to the point of ‘I love you,’ they were already fighting over the blasted ring.

Lainey disentangled herself and rolled to a sitting position, trying to think of a way to distract him. Food should work. "What's for brekky?" She opened the paper sack, breathing in the fragrant aromas of vanilla and butter. "Mm. Scones." She took one and put the bag down on the bed next to him. ”What are we doing today?"

"We're going to write the letter from your mum to my mum. Then we’ll find clothes for you so you'll look like a proper 1940s lass, and then I have something to show you."

There's more?" She let her eyes roam over the length of him, naked and stretched languorously across ninety per cent of the bed. "I feel like I've seen about all there is to see."

"Darlin, the best is yet to come.”

“I don't see how that's possible.” She reached for one of the paper cups. “Want some lukewarm tea?”

He smiled at her and lifted onto his elbows. “It was hot when I arrived, and so was the song I wrote on the bus. Fetch me guitar, will you love?”

Dressed in Paul’s shirt, with her hands wrapped around a cup of cold English breakfast tea, Lainey watched him sitting naked in the middle of the bed, bent over his guitar with inspiration.

“It's four in the morning the end of July I'm writing you now just to see if you're mine,” he crooned, and Lainey could hardly keep the smile from her face. What if she got back home and there was a new Beatles song buried in an LP from 1963? Was that even possible?

He looked up, noting her smile. "Three billion smiles in the world, and yours is my favorite."

Her smile widened. "Three billion voices in the world, and yours is my favorite. What's the name of that beautiful song?"

“If you’re mine.” He strummed a chord. “Fancy bending some strings with me?”

“Sure.” Lainey put down her tea and climbed into his lap, his legs spread out alongside hers, his chin resting on her shoulder as she snuggled back against him, the guitar across her chest.

He played through the new song, his right hand forming the chords on the fret of the guitar while she awkwardly strummed with her left hand. His voice was deep and melodic in her ear as he sang through the lyrics and hummed through the parts he had yet to write. And this was heaven. The ring had transported her back fifty years to heaven and nothing would ever be this romantic, this perfect, ever again. But tomorrow Paul was going back to work and she would have to go home, and there was nothing to be done about it.

“Paper,” he said, breaking the spell. He lifted his arms, letting Lainey crawl out from beneath the guitar and scramble over his legs.

She looked around the room, finally handing him her sketch pad.

“And a pen.” He was making a writing motion with his left hand.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She handed him her mechanical pencil.

“You can leave me a few of these if you’d like.” He examined the pencil for a few seconds before jotting down the words to what might be the latest Lennon-McCartney song in the back of her sketch pad. He looked up at her and winked. “I’ll bring them back when I come visit you.”

“Absolutely not,” Lainey said, her hands on her hips.

Paul shrugged, angling his shoulder away from her as he bent over the sketch pad. “I’m not having another row over this. It is what it is.”

“What are you talking about?”

He tore a page out of the sketch pad and looked up at her. “If we’re going to last, you’re going to have to learn not to be so hard-headed.”

Her mouth fell open. “Hold it right there. I’m hard headed because you’re not getting your way?”

He flicked his gaze back to the pad of paper in his lap. “Calm down, Lainey. I need you to help write a letter to me mum. Tomorrow we save her life.”

 

It took nearly an hour to perfect the letter which was supposedly from Lainey’s mother Julia to Paul’s mother Mary. An impassioned letter from someone whose sister had recently died of breast cancer, telling the nurse who had once cared for her to be mindful of the signs and not let it happen to her.

Paul folded the letter thoughtfully and tucked it into the outside pocket of Lainey’s leather handbag. “This is good. This just might work.” He smiled at her. “Now then. As much as I fancy seeing you in my shirt, I have nothing else to wear.”

Lainey unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off her arms, handing it to him. She pulled a clean top out of her backpack and joined him on the bed. He was sniffing the collar of his shirt. “I smell like my girl now.” He watched her pull on a black skirt, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” Lainey said, returning the smile as she tossed him his jeans.

“I’m just imagining how pretty you’re going to look in 1946.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her expression growing serious. “Paul. What if this works? And mind you, I don’t believe it can, particularly after what happened with George and John. But what if we do save your mom, and the Beatles never happen?”

He buttoned his shirt, his expression distant as she continued.

“What if I come back to 1963 and you don’t even know me? There’s no guarantee the Beatles will still exist if we change things.”

“My sweet English arse there isn’t. The Beatles are destined to be the greatest little rock ’n’ roll band in all of the UK. That’s a guarantee.”

She bit back a smile. “The greatest band in the UK? Is that what you think your destiny is?”

He flicked his eyes to her, his face registering surprise. “Isn’t it?”

“I guess so. I hope so. I hope we don’t screw everything up.”

He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “You just save my mum, Lainey. We’ll sort out the rest later. Easy as pie.”

He smiled at her, and she leaned in, letting her forehead rest against his. Easy as pie, he’d said, in the happy confident way he typically zoomed through life. “From your lips to God’s ear,” she muttered, wishing and hoping that their lives would somehow be as easy and charmed as Paul expected them to be.


	20. I Need You

Sunday morning crept in like a nun, all clouds and mist. On a ferry across the Mersey, Paul and Lainey huddled out of the wind on a black paint-chipped wooden bench, holding hands and watching the herons and kingfishers soaring against the backdrop of Liverpool’s waterfront.

In New Brighton the sun showed itself just as they reached a fun fair by the sea. They wandered past a hodgepodge of rides and games, amid crumpled napkins, food wrappers, bottle caps and cigarette butts, the briny sea air blowing through their hair. Beneath a tent they lunched on cheese sandwiches and chips and fizzy orange drinks.

Lainey looked around, fascinated by the Sunday crowds, the old fashioned shoes and permed hair. Paul smiled across the table at her. “So you’ve seen my world. Tell me about yours.”

He kept her talking all through lunch, laughing in all the right places, asking follow-up questions and nodding his head vigorously. Not even a shrink could be so actively engaged in every word she had to say. When she had finished he looked at her with his mouth slightly open.

“Your turn,” she said, resting her chin in her palm as she listened to Paul’s stories of visiting New Brighton as a teen and the mischief he’d gotten into. He was well into a tale involving firecrackers and a prank a cousin had played when he suddenly stood, scooped up the remains of their lunch and deposited it in a trash can.

“I’ve been made. Your 9:00.”

“What?” Lainey had no idea what he was talking about.

Paul tilted his head to the right. “The three birds by the vending machine. They recognize me.”

Lainey swiveled her head, daring a glance. “Okay…?”

“I don’t fancy dealing with this today,” Paul continued. “Come ‘ead.”

By the hand he led her out of the picnic area and across a parking lot. Excited squeals sounded behind them and he picked up the pace, dragging Lainey through a privacy hedge in the direction of the beach.

“Ow,” he muttered. “Watch out for the—“

Lainey gasped as something scraped across her shin.

“—rosebush,” Paul continued. With a glance over his shoulder, he took off at a run, pulling Lainey behind him. “Let’s get out of here.”

She stumbled along as they angled their way up onto a stretch of sand dunes behind the beach, ducking and running like fugitives. “We’ve outrun those birds,” Paul said finally, sounding winded. “We’re more fit than they are.”

Only seconds later he stumbled over a hidden piece of driftwood, letting loose a string of curses as he sprawled at Lainey’s feet. Containing her giggles was impossible.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” He grabbed her ankle, tripping her, and she let out a shriek and collapsed beside him on the sand.

He rolled on top of her, his body pressing hers into the cool sand, watching as she caught her breath. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, long slow kisses building the heat between them. He pulled away to smile down at her. Over his shoulder she watched the Atlantic clouds swarm in from the West. A salty breeze whispered through his hair, the sun kissing their skin. A picture perfect day. A picture perfect man to spend it with.

“Your hair is full of sand,” he said, flipping her on top of him and scattering grains of sand through the air. Lainey sputtered, raising her hand to wipe at her face.

“Shit. You okay? I was trying to take one for the team and let you on top.”

“My knight in shining armor.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m okay.”

His hands were underneath her skirt, squeezing her bottom, leaving little doubt what he had in mind now that they were alone.

Lainey pushed to her knees, looking both ways down the deserted stretch of dunes. “We’re doing this? Here?”

His grin flashed bright. “I’m in if you are.”

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“I want to show you everything, love.” Anticipation pulsed through her at the hungry look in his eyes.

She took one last look around before lowering herself on top of him and bringing her mouth to his.

 

They caught the ferry back with sand under their clothes and in their hair, giggling every time their eyes met, looking like two kids on Christmas morning who’d just unwrapped exactly what they wanted.

In a clothing shop near the hotel Paul held up a knee length charcoal skirt and a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. “This should do the trick.” They found a pair of old fashioned black kitten heeled shoes that just fit, and Lainey’s outfit for 1946 was complete.

Paul picked up his guitar the second they got back in the room. “I’ve got to get this song down, love, do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

She grabbed her sketch pad and sat at the tiny table in the corner of the room while Paul hunched over his guitar in the middle of the bed, soon lost in his own world.

An hour later Lainey had filled four pages with fashion sketches and Paul had worked his way through at least two songs that she had never heard before on any Beatles album. One was a continuation of the song he’d played for her earlier that morning, and the other was an upbeat, danceable song that sounded to Lainey’s surprise like someone emulating an early Beatles hit.

“Ready love?” Paul said suddenly. “I have something.”

“Sure. Hit me.”

He began picking out a catchy melody. “When we’re apart I find it hard to smile,” Paul sang, catching Lainey’s gaze and holding it. “You know the other girls are not my style.”

Lainey couldn’t help laughing a little at that. Right…

“Well there’s a feeling that I get when I’m with you. I need you, I need you.”

Lainey brought a hand to her heart, speechless.

“I could search around the world only to find, the only thing I need is you, right by my side.”**

And her heart melted. She dropped the pencil she was holding and crossed the room, her eyes fixed on his.

“I love it,” she said, reaching the bed and crawling across the rumpled sheets.

He lifted the guitar over his head and placed it beside them. “You do? Really? Do you think it’s any good?”

She nodded slowly, overwhelmed at the idea that she’d just watched magic, before her very eyes, as Paul created what sounded like it could very well be an early Beatles hit. And since she’d never heard it before, she could only guess that she had been the inspiration for it.

“You are the most amazing singer and songwriter in the world. Really.”

His grin was from ear as he pulled her onto his lap. “It’s all about the muse, Lainey love. The muse is everything. This song was written under the influence of a girl from the future and an acoustic guitar.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, then pulled away. “My whole life, you know, I’ve been working hard to know who I am. And when I’m playing music in front of an audience I can finally say to myself, ‘well, this is who I am,’ and believe it.”

“This is who you are,” she said, tucking her face against his warm neck and snuggling into his arms. “And I’m so glad I got to know you.”

“You know what else?” he said, running his hands up her sides, stalling at her breasts.

“What?” she whispered, shivering beneath his hands.

“If you would have told the eighteen-year-old me that I would meet someone in three years who’d make me want to lie around in bed all day, I’d have said you want yer ‘ead examining.”

Lainey smiled, looking at him in a way that felt like it should have been accompanied by tiny twinkling cartoon stars in her eyes. The idea of lying around in bed all day with this man sounded rather wonderful. And then they proceeded to do just that for the rest of the day.

They ordered room service because neither of them had the desire to leave the room or put on clothes for longer than the time it took to answer the door. They made love, took a bubble bath, made love again, tinkered around with the guitar, listened to Radio Luxembourg, whispered and laughed until midnight, and fell asleep with their hands laced together.

 

Paul was already awake the next morning when Lainey opened her eyes. He was sprawled on his back and she was curled around him, one leg thrown over his, her hand on his chest, possibly to keep from falling off the edge of the bed since he seemed to have no sense of boundaries when it came to sharing the mattress. He took the entire bed and Lainey clung on for dear life. But he was warm and solid and smelled good and his fingers were playing with her hair, massaging her scalp, and he’d written a song about her last night, so this morning she could forgive him most anything.

“Mornin’ sleepy warm girl,” Paul said, his voice husky. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” she lied. It hadn’t been easy falling asleep, knowing what today would mean. After she tried to save Paul’s Mom and failed, then what? Would that be the end of her usefulness to him? He was gazing at her so sweetly right now that Lainey felt a stab of guilt for thinking he could be so cold-hearted. She sighed against his shoulder. Time would tell, she supposed.

Paul gave out an answering sigh. “I’ve been thinking, Lainey.”

“Uh oh. Should I be worried?”

He didn’t smile or laugh, like she expected. He adjusted their bodies so they could look at each other, eye to eye. “I’m not sure I want you to do this.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her pulse quickening.

He reached for her hand, the hand wearing the ring, and ran a thumb across her knuckles. “We don’t know if it’s safe. You’ve never gone back to any time other than my time. How do we know you can get back?”

Lainey thought a minute. “I just take George’s recent picture with me and put it in the ring after I talk to your Mom. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll have my phone with me.”

He stared at her, his expression grave. “I’m not feeling all that good about this.”

“Maybe it’s because…” She hesitated, not sure if she should assume that his melancholy mood stemmed from the same reason for her own underlying sadness, the idea that after today they would likely never see each other again. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’s probably because you’re not sure if it will work or not. Or what the result will be.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m thinking of going with you.”

“What?” Lainey sat up, dropping her face into her hands. “Paul, Paul. For heaven’s sake, will you stop thinking you can be in two different time periods at once? You can’t do that!”

“Hold on. Let’s think this over.”

“No!” Lainey practically shouted. “I’m not talking about you time traveling any more.” She crawled over him and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, starting to stand up. Slinging a warm arm across her waist, Paul pulled her back down, placing a kiss in the middle of her lower back.

“I don’t want you to go alone.”

Lainey struggled out of his arms and stood in front of him, crossing her arms over her bare breasts. “I’m going alone or I’m not going. And it will only take a second. You won’t even know I’m gone.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m good at this.”

His eyes traveled over her body. He moistened his lips and opened his arms. “I can think of something else you’re good at. Come back to bed.”

Their love making was different this time, more intense, with eye contact that never stopped. When it was over, Paul dropped a kiss on her damp shoulder and said, “I’m not ready to let you go.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed. “I know.”

“There must be a way.”

“I don’t think…” She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

“Lainey. Look at me.” She opened her eyes to find him inches away, peering into her face. “We’ll find a way.”

“Okay,” she said, grabbing his face and kissing his perfect mouth. For the last time? Only time would tell.

 

Paul was unusually quiet on the bus ride to Western Avenue. With a cap pulled down low over his hair, he slouched in the seat, one arm across Lainey’s shoulders and the other hand rubbing at his jaw. He seemed to be deep in thought, lost in his own head. Lainey rested her head on his shoulder and left him alone with his thoughts.

They stepped off the bus in front of a two lane road leading into a street market. Paul seemed to have a definite purpose in mind, so Lainey followed him wordlessly, watching as he stopped in front of a flower stall and paid for a bouquet of yellow daisies.

“She loves daisies,” he said, and Lainey almost winced at hearing him use the present tense. “She says they’re happy flowers.”

She nodded. “Beautiful. Should we look for a vase?”

A block later they found the perfect crystal vase in a shop window. “This is good. People are always bringing her things. Little ceramic statues of dogs and children and angels, all kinds of mementos. And food. All sorts of food, yunno? She’s very beloved.”

“I’m sure she is.” Lainey glanced at the sticker. “It’s a little pricey.”

Paul smirked. “Are you kidding me? It’s my mum.”

“You’re right.” She nodded her approval and waited by the door as he took the vase to the register.

On a wooden bench in a park surrounded on three sides by woods, they arranged the flowers in the vase and Lainey stood in front of Paul as they took a final inventory.

 _Letter to Mary — check_  
_Mary’s photograph inside the ring — check_  
_George’s photograph for her return to 1963 — check_  
_1946 clothes and shoes — check_  
_iPhone hidden inside her handbag — check_  
_Directions memorized to the McCartney home — check_

“All good?” Lainey asked, trying to hide her nervousness.

Paul stood up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He hesitated before speaking, as if weighing the words. “You don’t have to do this.”

She blew out a breath. “I want to. I want to try. It’s okay, stop worrying.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I don’t think I can watch you just vanish.”

“Then close your eyes, because I’m going.”

He stepped back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and tilted his body away from her, staring up at the sky and looking rather miserable.

Lainey wrapped the strap of her handbag across her chest and gripped the vase of flowers with one hand, leaving her left hand free to open the locket and turn the ring. She held her breath for only a second before the spinning began. At the edge of her vision she thought she saw Paul turn to her and reach out a hand, his lips forming words that might have been “I love you” but couldn’t be heard above the rushing in her ears.

 

Her heart was pounding like a bass drum when she reached the McCartney home. The street was quiet, almost too quiet. The one sedan that passed looked like something out of an early Hollywood movie. Everyone seemed to be at school or at work. An older man trimming a hedge gave her a curious, friendly look. A pair of gulls swooped overhead, startling her with their sudden cries.

In front of the red brick building, she checked the slip of paper in her pocket to verify the address one last time, took a deep breath, and raised her hand to knock sharply at the door.

The sound of children’s voices came from inside the house, and Lainey fought the urge to run from the porch. But of course she had to go through with this. Losing his mother had been the biggest heartache in Paul’s life, and he was counting on Lainey to save her. Maybe this was why she had the ring. She had to give it her best shot. She straightened her shoulders and forced her lips into an expectant smile as the door opened.

 

 

**lyrics from "I Need You" by the Wonders :)


	21. When I Find Myself In Times of Trouble

The tall, classically pretty woman from the photograph answered the door with a toddler on her hip. She didn't seem at all surprised to see a stranger on her doorstep holding a vase full of daisies. Paul’s fond memories must have been true. Tokens of appreciation from a grateful community to a kind, capable nurse in post-war Britain were likely a common occurrence.

Five minutes later Lainey was seated on a beige sofa in a tiny but immaculate front room smelling of tobacco and lavender, holding a warm cup of strong English breakfast tea. Worn throw rugs were scattered over clean wooden floors. An upright piano stood only feet away. Above the fireplace hung a small pastoral painting of children playing. Framed black and white family photographs lined the mantel.

A four-year-old Paul McCartney in grey shorts and a pullover sat near Mary McCartney’s feet, running two metal die-cast Dinky toy trucks up and down the wooden floor, while two-year-old Michael crawled all over his mother like she was his personal jungle gym.

“Tell me about your mother, dear. How is she?”

Lainey took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on not blowing the story she’d begun to tell Mrs. McCartney. What she really wanted to do was kneel down and squeeze the chubby cheeks of the adorable little boy with huge eyes playing on the floor in front of her.

“Oh, she’s fine. Of course she misses all the people she knew here and especially wanted me to stop by and tell you how much she appreciated all you did for her.”

“That’s terribly kind of her. What did you say your last name is?”

“Spencer.” At least that part wasn’t a lie.

“And how long has your mother been gone?”

“Hmm. Five, six years?” Lainey bit her lip, hoping the questions didn’t get more specific.

“During the war, then. Such a chaotic time.”

Michael slid from his mother’s lap to the floor and reached a chubby hand for the red fire truck that had rolled tantalizingly close. Paul snatched it away just in time.

“Paul, give your brother one of the trucks.”

Lainey saw Paul’s lips tighten, but he surrendered the toy. Then he looked up, his huge eyes resting on Lainey’s face, and she couldn’t help smiling at this beautiful child who would one day have the whole world at his feet. He continued staring at her until she gave him a little wave and he blinked away as if bored with her.

“I’ll fetch more tea,” Mrs. McCartney said, reaching for Lainey’s cup. Michael toddled after her, still clutching the red fire truck.

“What’s yer name?” Paul asked her the moment his mother left the room.

“Lainey. You’re Paul, aren’t you?”

He nodded and flashed those big brown eyes at her. “Your hair is pretty.”

“Oh!” Lainey said, surprised. Was a four year old Paul McCartney flirting with her? “Thank you.” This child was precocious from the very start. “Your mom is very pretty too.”

He nodded and examined the underside of the green truck in his hands.

“She loves you very much, you know that?”

“Except when I’m naughty.”

“I’m sure she loves you even when you’re naughty.”

“‘Cept when I break things.”

“Even then.”

“‘Cept when I break the rules.” He hunched his shoulders up to his ears and began to giggle, and it was such a Paul giggle that Lainey couldn’t help giggling back.

“My brother is without pants,” Paul said, holding his stomach and giggling harder.

“What does that even mean?” Lainey asked. _Was this the most adorable little boy in the world?_ She could spend all day listening to that laugh.

Mrs. McCartney returned with more tea, Michael once again attached to her hip. “Did you have a silly pill, Paul?”

“Silly pilly,” Paul repeated. The giggling stopped and his eyes narrowed as he watched his mother settle onto the sofa with Michael on her lap. Abandoning the truck, he climbed onto the piano stool. Legs swinging, little brown leather shoes not quite reaching the floor, he stretched to the far left and began plunking every black key from the bottom of the keyboard to the top.

“He’s adorable. They both are.”

“He’s a whirlwind,” Mary said, but her face glowed with pride. “If only I had their energy.”

They both watched Paul for a moment, his left hand moving up to the high notes. “He seems to be left-handed,” Mary said, her brow knit with concern. “I've been encouraging him to use crayons with his right hand, and he gets so frustrated with me. But it will save him a lot of bother and frustration later on with the school masters if he'll use his right hand."

Lainey wondered what Mary would say she knew her first born was destined to become the most famous left-handed bass player in the world. "I imagine he'll figure it all out and do just fine with his left hand,” Lainey said. She could tell by the tilt of his head that Paul was listening to every word they said.

Then to Lainey’s surprise, he began to play Chopsticks. She turned to Mary with a smile. “He’s very musical.”

“He gets that from his father.”

“Does your husband teach the boys?”

“No, He wants them to learn it properly, from an instructor, when they’re ready.”

Little Paul’s ears seemed to perk up. “I can play piano already, Mother,” he said in a perfect British accent. Lainey almost laughed. So Paul hadn’t really picked up the Northern accent until he’d gotten around the other kids at school and wanted to fit in.

“Yes, you’re doing quite well, Son.”

Michael clambered off his mother’s lap and toddled over to his brother, pulling himself up to the piano. He lifted his fat little hands and slammed them down on the keyboard. A split second later, Paul’s arm shot out, and little brother plopped onto his diaper clad bottom and howled. Paul blithely turned back to the keys and started Chopsticks from the beginning.

Lainey’s hand flew to her mouth, but she quickly realized the baby’s only injury was to his pride. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the family dynamic playing out in front of her eyes. Big brother had clearly had enough of little brother infringing on his toys, his mother, his audience.

Mary scooped up baby Michael and soothed him before addressing her older son. “James Paul. You owe everyone an apology.”

Paul stopped playing, his face the picture of innocence. “But I’m not sorry, Mummy. He shouldn’t bang on the keys, Dad says so.”

Mary took him by the shoulder and guided him off the stool. “Use your words from now on. Upstairs. Off you go.”

Paul’s face reddened, but he obediently slid off the piano stool and headed for the doorway. Then he stopped. “It’s not fair, Mummy. And I need the sand glass.”

Mary sighed. “That’s fine Paul. Use gentle hands.”

At the fireplace, Paul lifted a large hour glass from the hearth, flipped it over and carried it carefully out of the room, watching the sand trickling through as if mesmerized. Lainey heard his little leather shoes clumping up the stairs.

“He knows he can leave his room when the sand runs out,” Mary explained wearily. A working mother, with none of the modern conveniences Lainey had grown up taking for granted. No wonder she looked tired.

“They’re very sweet boys,” Lainey reassured her. “Typical brothers, jealous for your attention.”

“Paul is so much like his father. He’s never happier than when he has an audience.”

Lainey couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “That’s how he reaches out to people. All you can do is encourage it.”

Mary looked thoughtful. “That lad has the fascinating ability to do two things at once."

"What do you mean?"

"He can be looking at a picture book and listening to the wireless and a neighbor drops by. Paul can relate everything that happened in a radio program and every word of my conversation with the neighbor and never look up from his book."

"He's a very smart little boy. He'll make you terribly proud one day."

Mary's cheeks grew faintly pink. "A mother is always proud of her sons," she said, ruffling Michael's soft brown hair. Michael rested his tear-stained cheek on his mother’s shoulder, content now to have her full attention.

Lainey decided now was a good time to hit the road back to 1963, before she made any mistakes. She pulled Paul's letter out of her purse. “My mother wanted me to give you this. She said it was very important.”

“Oh. Of course. The flowers are lovely, dear. And the vase. Please tell your mother I’ll keep it always.” She frowned, as if trying once again to remember Lainey’s mother.

“It was so nice meeting you, Mrs. McCartney. Thank you for everything.”

“Pleasure. Give my best to your mother. Is there a return address inside so I can thank her properly?”

“Yes, inside the letter.” Lainey winced a little at the lie, reminding herself that it was all for the greater good.

 

The door closed behind her and Lainey expelled an audible sigh of relief. She’d done the best she could and hadn’t made any mistakes. Now she had to get back to 1963 and Paul and hope for the best.

On the short walk to the park, Lainey’s heart was beating like a drum, her shoulders tense. What if she’d been successful, if Mary had taken the letter to heart and had her symptoms checked out while there was still time to save her life? Would Paul still have become a Beatle? Would he be waiting for her 1963, or would they even have met one another? One way or another, she would soon find out.

  
When the spinning sensation stopped, Lainey didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved to see Paul sitting on the bench exactly where she’d left him.

“What happened?” he demanded, before she even had her bearings. “What did you do with the flowers?”

Lainey brought a hand to her forehead. Traveling through time wasn’t getting any easier. It still made her slightly nauseous and lightheaded. “I gave them to your mother. Chill out and give me a moment.”

She collapsed on the bench beside him and closed her eyes, hoping her head would stop spinning soon.

“You’ve only been gone for five seconds.”

“Five seconds to you,” she said, opening her eyes.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Oh my god. You already know I’m crazy about the 21-year-old you, but I am madly in love with the four-year-old you! You were the cutest little thing. You said my hair was pretty and you—“

“I don’t care about any of that, what about my mum?” He jerked to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck as he paced in front of her. “Did you tell her about the accident? Did you make sure she won’t ride her bicycle to work on Halloween night in 1956?”

Lainey felt the blood drain from her face. “What are you talking about? Your mom didn’t die of an accident. She died of breast cancer. I gave her the note, the way we planned all along—”

“You didn’t mention the car that hit her, Lainey? You have got to be fookin’ kiddin’ me.” Paul thrust both hands into his hair and stared up at the sky as he spun in a small circle.

“Oh god…this is…Paul, everything has changed!” Lainey jumped to her feet, tears filling her eyes. “Paul, listen…” She reached out a hand to him but he darted out of her reach. “I’ll go back again, if you think it will help. I’ll tell her about the accident, I’ll tell her whatever you want me to.”

“Did you even go back in the first place? Were you actually ever there?” He whirled on her, anger flashing in his eyes. Then he noticed her tears and his face softened. He groaned and turned, walking away from her into the middle of a field of grass.

Lainey sat back down on the bench, watching him go. She dropped her face in her hands, the tears still falling. She’d known all along that she probably couldn’t save Paul’s mother. She should have prepared him better. She shouldn’t have let him think there was a chance.

When she looked back up, Paul was lying in the middle of the field, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. The sight frightened her. She had no idea how to comfort him, when he clearly didn’t want her help.

A pair of blue jays squawked, drawing Lainey’s attention to the edge of the woods. A medium sized yellow dog loped toward them, giving Lainey only a glance before making a beeline for Paul. The dog stood over him, panting and sniffing, and Lainey watched as Paul lifted an arm to ruffle the fur around the dog’s neck. He was petting a dog now. That let her know he was going to be okay.

He was propped up on an elbow, good friends with the dog by the time Lainey reached him.   
Ducking her outstretched hand, the dog gave Lainey a sniff before continuing its trek, collar and tags jingling with every step.

“Paul, I—“

“I’m sorry I—“

They spoke at the same time, stopped, and Paul smiled a weary smile. He reached a hand up to her. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.”

Lainey took his hand and dropped to her knees beside him.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” Paul said. “I didn’t mean to blame you.” His thumb was rubbing the burnished gold on the ring finger of her right hand. “It’s this bloody ring. I expected too much. it means a lot to me that you did this for me.”

He continued tugging at her hand until Lainey was stretched out on the ground beside him, half on top of him, in her long charcoal skirt and white shirt, Paul’s fingers laced at the small of her back. “Tell me everything.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

A long, drawn out sigh. “I’m sure.”

Lainey began to describe every detail she could remember about Paul’s mother, his brother Michael, their little house, the piano Paul had played, the toys he was playing with. When she got to the part about the hour glass, she heard his sharp intake of breath.

“I remember you.”

“What?”

“The way you’ve just described everything, I remember it. I remember a pretty dark-haired girl coming by the house with a vase of yellow daisies and I recall being angry that I was sent upstairs. I watched you from the upstairs window as you walked away.”

“How is that possible? It was five minutes ago.” Lainey’s head was starting to ache. Was this what a migraine felt like?

“I remember it because of the look on my mum’s face when she read the letter. And my dad came home and she was still upset and showed it to him. That’s why I remember it. What did that letter say exactly?”

Lainey lifted her head to look at him. “You’re the one who wrote it!”

He shook his head adamantly. “No I didn’t. I told you to go back to 1956 and keep her from riding her bicycle off to work. I don’t know what the bloody hell you were doing in 1946.”

Their eyes met. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now,” Lainey said quietly.

Paul blew out an exasperated breath. “Let’s get out of here. I never liked this neighborhood.”

A bus took them through an industrial part of town, past the airport, and let them out at what seemed like the end of the line. Past an abandoned warehouse, they picked their way over what might have been the remains of a bombed out building, then ran side by side down a rocky path, their feet hitting the earth in rhythm with one another.

Open dry fields descended to a stretch of dark grey rolling water. They ran until they could go no farther. Paul bent over, hands on his knees, panting and catching his breath. Then he straightened and turned to Lainey.

“What happens now?”

She shook her head, still catching her breath. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t leave.”

“Paul, I can’t stay. You know I can’t.”

His eyes flashed with hurt. “So that’s it, then?”

She lifted her palms, beseeching him to understand, to not put them through this. “Aren’t you going back on the road, like immediately?”

He groaned up at the sky. “There are times I wish I was an English teacher in fucking Speke.”

“That would make you really happy, I’m sure.”

“Lainey, listen to me. We don’t have to be over. You can let me come to you, for one thing.”

“You know that’s impossible.”

He didn’t answer. He laced their fingers and pulled her to him, his other hand cradling her head, and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her like he wanted to make sure she remembered every detail, his palm stroking the back of her neck, deepening the kiss with insistent and demanding caresses, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue.

Somehow through the fog of her Paul-drenched brain she realized he had unlinked their fingers and slid the ring off her finger. _Sonofabitch._

She pushed at his chest, breaking the kiss and gasping in a much-needed breath of air. “Paul. Give me the ring.”

His hand was in the front pocket of his jeans. “I need you here. My life is crazy, and you and I…we fit.”

“Give it back.”

She lunged for his hand and he elbowed her away. They grappled for a moment, Lainey tugging desperately at his wrist, Paul fending her off, until he jerked his hand out of his pocket and slung back his arm.

Stunned, Lainey watched the sun glinting off the gold ring as it tumbled through the air and into the dark, cold waters of the Mersey River.

 

And that was the moment she knew it was over. “How could you?” she tearfully demanded of Paul. “Don’t you know I can still get home with my phone, but now I can never come back here?”

She immediately started digging through her purse, while Paul raised his hands, his own eyes welling with tears at the devastated look on her face. He tried to placate her. “Be reasonable. Let’s talk about this. You don’t understand.”

But to Lainey it was clear as a bell. Once Paul had realized the ring was of no use to him, that it couldn’t bring his mother back, he threw away their only chance of seeing each other again.

She staggered up the beach, with Paul on her heels as she powered up her iPhone. “Come on, come on!” she said, jerking her arm out of Paul’s grasp and punching wildly at the voicemail and speaker buttons.

The world spun madly, Paul shouted words at her that she couldn’t hear over the rushing in her ears, and then she was sprawled on the ground on the shore of the Mersey River, completely alone.

  
Her mother and brother thought Lainey had lost her mind when she called to tell them she would be using her Discover card to spend the night in a Liverpool hotel until she could get a train back tomorrow morning. Her mother eyed her warily for the final days of their stay in England, even mentioning that she might want to “see someone” back home if she didn’t “get her emotions under control.”

Lainey spent the last two days in England alternating between sleeping with a pillow over her head and hiding in the bathroom crying with the bath water running. By the time they left England, she decided enough was enough. She would leave her broken heart and all her memories of Paul here, and when she got home she was going to pretend none of this terrible time travel nightmare had ever happened.

But Paul McCartney wasn’t so easy to forget. Even as angry as she was with him, she missed so many things about him, about the way they were together. The sound of his laugh, the way his eyes could move her, the colors of his iris stirring hypnotically, the perfect soft firmness of his lips against hers. The intoxicating smell of him that haunted her for weeks.

On the rare occasions that she went more than a few minutes without missing him, she would catch a glimpse of a shiny dark head of hair, catch a whiff of tobacco smoke or hear a simple guitar riff and everything about their two weeks together would come rushing back.

The dog days of summer crawled by. Lainey was soon back to her normal routine, classes during the day, working in the record store at night, dinner a few times a week with her best friend Kate, who knew her well enough to know something was wrong and that Lainey would talk about it when she was ready.

And finally she was ready, on a Saturday night, weepy after a chick flick on Netflix and half a bottle of German wine. Lainey opened up to Kate about the boy she’d fallen in love with on vacation. A musician, a singer in a band. A fast and furious fling with someone she would never see again.

“You were there for what…two weeks?” Kate said, somewhat skeptical.

“I know it’s over, and it never really began, but in my heart it was so real…” Lainey said, tears dripping down her cheeks.

Kate wasn’t getting it. “Is he on Facebook? Instagram? Snapchat? Why can’t you video chat or something? England is five hours away and not exactly a third world country. I could swear they have internet.”

Lainey shook her head. “It’s impossible.”

Kate only nodded and opened her arms, patting Lainey’s back and letting her cry.

Then they refilled their glasses of wine and talked about how much work Lainey had to do to make up for the sketch pad she’d lost in England. A summer full of work, abandoned in a hotel room in Liverpool, never to be seen again.

  
By the second week in September, three weeks into the Fall semester, Lainey was still not finished redoing all the designs she had lost. She took her new sketchpad with her to the record store, sketching designs whenever they were without customers, which seemed to be most of the time.

Lainey had only served one customer in the coffee shop at the back of the store on Wednesday night, a middle-aged woman who ordered a London Fog. Great, Lainey thought as she made the latte with Earl Grey and steamed milk. Now even when her father wasn’t playing Sgt Pepper over the audio system, she couldn’t even serve customers in the back without being reminded of Paul.

She was completely over this job anyway. Working in a used record store with her father, a classic rock freak, and trying not to think about Paul McCartney. It was ridiculous. Her life was a bad romantic comedy. She would have quit this job weeks ago if she weren’t working for her father.

She was standing at the sink, rinsing out a large blender, when she heard a customer rapping on the counter, trying to get her attention. Wouldn’t you know it, ten minutes before closing, some A-hole had wandered in, probably wanting some sort of complicated tall non-fat latte with caramel drizzle, when Lainey had already cleaned the machines and counted the money in the drawer. She fought the urge to toss a glare over her shoulder.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

 _That voice._ She would know it anywhere. _Impossible._

“I seem to ‘ave somethingk of yours,” the voice said. Northern English accent, full glottal stop on the ‘g’ and the dripping with honey voice that caused panties to drop all over the world. Even hers. Especially hers.

The blender slipped from her hands, clattering in the sink. With shaking hands, Lainey turned off the water, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned around.

And her heart stopped beating. The sight of him slapped her in the face, then drowned her in flashing memories, like hailstones pelting and melting on the ground.

Paul McCartney, looking exactly as he’d looked in 1963, was standing in her father’s record store, at her glass counter between the carrot cake and the apple crunch muffins, looking jet-lagged and beautiful and more than a little nervous.

She reached behind her, gripping the sink with both hands. _Mother of god._ There was no way this was happening.

He shrugged her backpack off his shoulders and placed it gently on the counter between them, his eyes warm and fastened on hers. “I thought you might want your things. And an explanation.”

She reminded herself to take a breath. Because humans need to breathe. “No. You’re not real,” she whispered.

He leaned over the counter, earnestly looking into her face. “Lainey love. Imagine the zillion to one shot that my eyes should fall and catch on a slender girl just before she stepped in front of our car and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. Imagine the odds of making a connection with that girl, like I’ve never felt before. Did you really think I would let you just walk out of my life forever?”

 

 


	22. We'd Like to Take You Home with Us

On the other side of the counter, not three feet away, stood twenty-one year old Paul McCartney, looking at Lainey with those huge honey-colored eyes she loved, speaking to her with that deep Scouse voice she loved. "Bet you're surprised to see me here."

She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. No. It couldn't be. "Who...who are you?" she stammered, her eyes welling with tears. Impossible. She must be losing her mind.

"Baby. You know who I am."

"No. Not possible." She rubbed at her eyes, at the tears spilling over.

Then Paul was on her side of the counter, pulling her into his arms, whispering something soothing next to her ear. _That smell._  Woodsy aftershave and a hint of tobacco. It _was_ him. For a long moment she did nothing but breathe him in, her damp face tucked into his neck.

"How?" she finally managed to say.

He pulled away and held up his right hand. The gold scarab ring glittered on his pinky finger.

"But I saw you throw it in the river!"

He slowly shook his head, the fluorescent overhead lights accenting that dark shiny hair she loved. "You saw me throw a bottle cap into the river. The ring was tucked safely in my pocket all along."

Lainey stared at him, stunned. He'd tricked her. _The bastard._ All of the grief she'd gone through for the last two months, all of the tears, when she was certain she'd never see him again, and he had the ring all along? She shook her head, trying to take it in. Paul McCartney, her age, here, in her father's record store. He slid his hands down her sides. Then he had the audacity to smile at her.

She took two steps back. His arms fell away. "I'm going to kick your ass!" she practically yelled.

A middle-aged woman in a peasant top and jeans glanced up from a rack of Bob Marley and Rolling Stones T-shirts.

Paul cocked a perfect dark eyebrow at Lainey. “All five-feet-four inches of you? I’m scared.”

Lainey pulled at her hair and managed to lower her voice. "You...you asshole," she hissed.

His beautiful lips thinned in a straight line. The smirk disappeared. “All right, Lainey, I probably deserve that. Just let me explain.”

Lainey’s head was spinning. The cocky bastard had tricked her, stolen her ring, and appeared suddenly in 2012, probably planning to charm her into submission with his magic voice. She wanted to slap him silly. Then she wanted to bury her face against his neck again and just feel his arms around her, holding her.

 She could hear her father whistling “Carolina in My Mind” from the front of the store. _Her father!_ How was she supposed to explain a very young Paul McCartney materializing out of thin air next to the espresso machine to her father?

Lainey jerked at the ties of her apron and slung it on the counter. She aimed her hip at the cash drawer, slamming it closed. "Go back into the past where you belong," she said, pointing a shaking finger at Paul.

"You don't mean that, babe. You're just startled, that's all."

"Startled? I'm startled?" Her voice sounded hysterical. The older woman with the long braid was openly staring now. Lainey snatched her backpack from the counter and stormed into the back room, with Paul on her heels.

Out of view of their one customer, and hopefully out of earshot, Lainey dropped the backpack on the edge of her father’s cluttered desk and unhooked the flap. Thank god, there was her sketchpad. At least Paul had been thoughtful enough to return her things.

She felt the warmth of him behind her but refused to turn and look at him. “I can’t believe you tricked me.”

“I’m sorry, Lainey. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

The voice made her throat clench. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until she felt herself grow dizzy. She leaned against the desk, pretending to be fascinated by the contents of her backpack while everything swam in front of her eyes.

There were so many things she’d missed about him: their laughter, the easy camaraderie, the way he looked at her, his smile, the voice that made her stomach flutter no matter how many times she heard it. She’d never expected to hear that voice again, low and close to her ear.

She’d never expected to be inches away from him again, to be able to touch that beautiful face she loved. It had been two months and she wasn’t nearly over him. How many tears had she already cried over this man?

Just this past weekend she had found herself alone on a Sunday night with her iPad and a bottle of German wine that made her long for Paul even more than usual. Two glasses in and she was on YouTube watching early Beatles concert videos, her heart aching at the sight of Paul’s head bent next to George’s at the microphone, the two of them giving each other knowing glances, laughing across the stage at John at some inside Beatles joke. Ringo peering out from behind his drum kit, his face glowing with happy amazement.

She missed all of them, missed being on the fringes of their magical universe, the jolt she had felt just being in their presence. It hurt to know she would never see any of them again. Stop it! she had ordered herself, a finger hovering over the back arrow button. The internet was dangerous to her mental well-being now. It should only be used for clicking on ninja cat videos. But she hadn’t stopped. She’d ended up Googling pictures of Paul.

She’d felt like a stalker, her eyes glued to the screen as she scrolled through hundreds of photographs. There was a shot of him in a navy suit, gripping his Hofner, sweaty and glowing, caught up in performing for an adoring crowd. Another shot of him grinning with fans. Another image showed him shirtless, studying a newspaper.

Lainey had squirmed a little at the sight, remembering the feel of that chest beneath her fingertips, the springiness of his chest hair, the smooth plane of his abdomen, the way her cheek felt pressed to the warm, bare skin of his shoulder.

Instead of looking away, like any sane person would do, she had refilled her wine glass and scrolled through shirtless photos of Paul McCartney until her iPad flashed a low power alert and she tossed it on the sofa and dragged herself to bed. She had fallen asleep with the familiar headachy feeling of unshed tears, wondering if she would ever meet anyone she wanted to be with as much as she wanted Paul Goddamn McCartney.

And suddenly he was here, invading her orderly world with his sexy voice and his Paul smell, and instead of being happy about it, Lainey wanted to strangle him for making her want him so much. For making her want the one man she could never have.

The tiny back room was entirely too warm. She gathered her hair in her fist. Tingles shot down her arm from the warmth of his breath on her neck.

“Cor. I want to lick the back of your neck so bad right now.”

Her heart bounced around in her chest, but her anger won out. She whirled on him, surprised to find him only inches away. She backed against the desk.

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare think you can just show up and woo me with your…your magic words.”

“My what?” Instead of reacting to her anger, he looked at her with a sort of patient self-assurance, as if he knew it was only a matter of time before she capitulated, before she was his again.

She gripped the edge of the wooden desk, trying to keep her traitorous fingers from reaching for him. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, showing up in the future like this? You’ve probably killed the real Paul McCartney.”

He took a step closer, his sigh warm against her cheek. “I’m the real Paul McCartney. No one’s going to get killed.”

Lainey rubbed a hand hard across her forehead. The thought of two Paul McCartneys was enough to make her brain explode. She tilted her face to look at him. “What the hell, Paul. Why are you here?”

“Because, Lainey, I’m totally, stupidly enamored of you. I want to send a thank you letter to George and Marie for creating your mum and another to your mum and dad for creating you. I can’t get you out of my head.” He studied her face, looking soul deep into her eyes with a sort of reverent awe that nearly broke all her resolve and certainly dissolved all her anger. "Make it stop," he murmured, his gaze falling to her lips.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, half to herself. “I have no idea what to do with you.”

“Come here.”

Then she was in his arms, melting against him, her body pliant and supple against his, all thoughts of resisting gone from her Paul-drenched brain. What did it matter that he had stolen her ring, tricked her, and made her miserable for the past two months. When they were pressed together like this, the whole world finally made sense again.

It could have been only seconds, or it could have been hours. Lainey had lost all track of time when Paul took a step back, a look of confusion on his face. And then it registered. The familiar voice blaring from the speakers at the front of the store. Paul's rock growl: "It was twenty years ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play…"

Lainey shook herself out of her Paul trance. Every night, just before closing time her father blasted a classic rock tune. Tonight, of all nights, it was Sgt. Pepper.

Paul's face had paled, his head tilted toward the open doorway. "The fuck is that?" he whispered. He started for the store, for the source of the sound.

Lainey grabbed his arm and scuttled in front of him, blocking his exit. "What do you think you're doing? You can't go wandering around the store like...like Paul freaking McCartney."

"Sshh!" He pointed over her shoulder. "That song. Is fucking brilliant. I must hear it."

"You'll hear it. You'll write it. This is insane. You shouldn't be here."

A low Southern drawl behind her caused her to jump. "This would be a great place to open a coffee shop. If only I had a daughter to work the register and pour the coffee."

Lainey whirled, reaching behind her in a vain attempt to shove Paul out of her father's view. How was she going to explain Paul McCartney? Her father was staring over her shoulder at Paul, waiting.

"Dad, this is..."

Paul reached his right arm around her. "Hello, sir, James Mohan, good to meet you finally," he said smoothly.

Lainey watched her father shaking hands with Paul McCartney. This could not be happening. _James who?_

They two men in Lainey’s life stood sizing each other up. Her father pointed at Paul. "You're a dead ringer for a young Paul McCartney."

"Yes sir. So I've been told."

“You’re British?" her father said, scrunching his nose like he wasn’t very happy about that.

"Dad, this is my James..." Lainey cleared her throat and began again. "I mean, this is my friend James from England..."

Paul smiled amiably.

"That right?" Her father narrowed his eyes at Paul for a beat before settling on Lainey. “An eBay order just came through and I was going to have you pull it and get it ready for shipping. Are we going to get any more work out of you tonight?"

“Oh. Sure, I was just closing out the drawer. I'll finish counting and then I can—“

Her father waved an arm. “Never mind. Go. Be free. Be young while you still can." He stopped, eying Paul from the doorway. "You know how to drive in this country?"

"Yes sir. The wrong side of the road.”

“Ah. A comedian.”

Paul laughed. “I just drove in from Illinois actually. Great interstate system you have here.”

Lainey stared at him. _What?_

“Right,” her father said. He gave Paul a final look. “It’s not the Autobahn. Mind the speed limits.”

“Yes sir. Of course.”

Apparently satisfied that Lainey would survive the night, her father disappeared into the store and Lainey drew her first full breath in five minutes. "My god," she muttered, dropping her head in her hands.

"That went well I think," Paul said. "I like him. Now, about that song..."

Lainey looked up at him. He was really here. Her Paul. In 2012. She gasped. “I’m not kidding, though. What if you've killed him?"

"What are you on about, love?"

"Old Paul. You can't both be here!"

"Course we can." He held up his hand. "With the magic ring, we make the rules." He smiled sweetly down at her, his eyes twinkling, and Lainey felt the last of her annoyance slipping away. She would soon be nothing but a huge puddle of want.

She placed both hands against his chest, relishing the solid feel of him, the reality of him. "Are you coming home with me then?"

"I certainly hope so."

"How long are you here for?" she whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “How long do you want me?”

"For a hundred and fifty years then."

His grin widened. ”Is that all?"

She stepped out of his arms and opened a file drawer, pulling out her pink leather bag and digging around for her keys. When she found them, she tossed them to Paul and headed for the back door, holding it open for him to step out in the alley. A perfectly warm September night, drenched in moonlight. A strong breeze blowing in from the East had Lainey imagining she could almost smell the ocean.

“The Jeep is mine," she called over her shoulder, locking the door from the inside and yanking it closed.

She turned to see Paul standing in front of her older but still shiny black Wrangler with the soft top down. He had the dazed look of someone who had just been transported fifty years into the future and liked what he saw.

“Bloody hell. I think I’m going to like it here.” He turned to her with a sweet, eager smile, and Lainey couldn’t keep herself from smiling back.

He was really here. Her Paul. She still had no idea what to do with him, but between the two of them, she reckoned they would figure things out.


	23. Tell Me Why You Lied

It was only a fifteen minute drive home from the record store, but Lainey decided Paul had some explaining to do before she took him home with her and told him “This is where you live now.”

Paul drove with one hand on the wheel and the other midway up Lainey’s bare thigh, his fingers warm against her skin, tapping out the rhythm along with a Sam Hunt song. He was a graceful and confident driver, except when he was distracted by the scan feature on the radio and groaning with pleasure over the number of available stations, the quality of the sound, and what he referred to as “vast improvements in recording technology.”

“Turn right,” Lainey said, indicating a narrow, tree-shrouded road. A few minutes later they were parked at the end of a gravel road, the buzz of insects almost masking the sound of water splashing only yards away.

“Shoes off.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Sandals and shoes were left in the Jeep, and Lainey pointed at Paul’s dark grey jeans. “You’ll want to roll those up.”

He bent to the task, and when he straightened she took his hand and led him through the reeds to the edge of the water, shockingly cold at first, but soon refreshingly pleasant. They worked their way carefully over the slimy rocks until a few yards from shore they climbed onto a large, water-smoothed boulder and dangled their feet in the water.

“God, look at that lover’s moon.”

Lainey took Paul’s chin in her hand, pulling his attention to her face.

“Okay Romeo, now’s your chance. Tell me why you stole my ring and why you lied to me. And it better be good or I’m leaving you here, in the middle of the James River, a long way from home.”

“I didn’t exactly lie to you, Lainey love. I wasn't sure you'd come back to me, so I had to nick the ring to see you again. You see, I knew you wouldn't voluntarily give it to me. You left me no choice, really.”

"I cried for weeks over you.”

"I'm sorry babe. I got here as fast as I could."

She stared at him, letting his words sink in. “How did you get to 2012?”

“Simple, really. I used one of the pictures I took of you in Weston-super-mare.”

Her gaze fell to the ring. “Show me.”

He flipped the ring open and she peered inside, amazed to see her own tiny smiling face inside the locket.

“And how do you think you’re going to get back?”

“The same way you got to 1963. By putting George’s picture back in the locket.”

“Wait a minute…how did you get to Virginia, to my father’s record store?”

“I knew George was planning to visit his sister in Illinois on our two week break. His first visit to the States, and he’s been talking about it for months. So I flew over with him.”

“You were serious about driving from Illinois today?”

“Absolutely.”

“By yourself?”

He picked up a loose stone and skipped it across the water. “George is with me.”

“What? Where is he, exactly?”

“He’s back in the record store, in 1963. But it was near closing time. I told him not to wait around, that if I found you I might not be coming back for some time. But…” He reached over and scooped a handful of stones from the water. “…if it works the way it worked for you, when I go back, he’ll still be standing right where I left him.”

He slung another stone across the moonlit water, counting the number of skips and cheering himself with a loud whistle when the stone got to five before sinking.

“You’ve left George Harrison all alone in Virginia in 1963.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s talking to the store manager about this new British band called the Beatles.”

“He’s what?” Lainey couldn't wrap her head around it. Somewhere in 1963, her British grandfather and her American grandfather were in her family's record store, talking about the Beatles. Too bizarre to think about.

“The bloke’s Irish, did you know that? Still has a wee trace of the accent.”

“Do I know my grandfather is Irish? Yes, Paul, I do.”

“That was your grandfather?” Paul smiled. “I’ve met quite a lot of your family today.”

“My grandfathers are talking to each other right now in 1963. And they don’t even know.”

Paul nodded. “George wants to see Marie.”

“What?” Lainey sat straight up. "He can't. We’re leaving my grandmother out of this. She’s perfectly fine without George Harrison showing up from her past.”

Paul shrugged. “You’re the one who put the idea in his head, not me.”

“Oh my god.” Lainey dropped her face in her hands. “He’ll probably mess everything up and I’ll never be born. I’ll vanish right in front of your eyes.”

He gripped the back of her neck, pulling her forehead to his. “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it love?”

She groaned and pulled away, meeting his eyes. “Please tell me you’ll keep George from my grandmother. This can’t end well.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you come back to 1963 with me and tell him yourself?” He gave her a wink.

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?” She huffed out a breath. “Let’s just hope your little jaunt hasn’t killed anyone.”

“Killed anyone?” he repeated dubiously.

“Yeah. Like seventy-year-old Paul.”

“Cor, Lainey. You’re like a broken record.”

He looked out at the moonlight glistening on the water. “There’s something else I should tell you.”

Here it comes, Lainey thought. He wasn’t meeting her eyes, so whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

“I don’t want you getting all bent out of shape over this,” he continued.

“You have a girlfriend.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “Pfft. A girlfriend? That’s the least of our worries.”

“Okay then…what is it that I should be worried about?”

“Nothing, Lainey. You have nothing to be worried about as far as I’m concerned. But I want you to know that I need to keep the ring for another month or so, and I don’t want you getting all worked up about it.”

“Jesus. What are you planning now?”

With his hands braced on his knees, he stared down at the ring. “I need to go back to October 1956. I need to keep the ring until the end of October.”

“Your Mom?” she said quietly.

He looked up, and their eyes caught and held. “I need to give it one more shot, Lainey.”

She bit her lip, her eyes blurry with tears. “I think trying to change the past is a really bad idea.”

“I have to.”

Lainey leaned over and pressed a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Please be careful,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You know I will.” His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer.

They stared out at the water, Lainey’s head on Paul’s shoulder. A dragonfly skimmed the water and flitted up, hovering in front of their faces. Lainey lifted her hand to swat it away.

“Don’t do that,” Paul said, staying her hand. “It might be a wee one. A fairie. That’s an old Irish legend.”

“I’ve truly never seen a dragonfly at night before.”

“Maybe it’s my mum, giving us her approval, now that she knows you.”

“Hmm.” Lainey shivered, and Paul rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m okay. Just worried about you farting around with the ring all the time.” She drew in a shaky breath and tried to think of something to change the somber mood. And she thought of the question that had been nagging at her.

“So do you have a girlfriend now, since I’ve been gone?”

“I’ve been on a few dates. But I wouldn’t say I have a girlfriend.” He nudged her with his shoulder until she looked up at him. “What about you? Any boyfriends?”

She looked back down at her lap. “I haven’t been all that interested in dating lately,” she mumbled.

“Whew. I got here just in time.” He gave her another nudge.

She squared her shoulders. “Girls are throwing themselves at you though.”

He merely smiled.

“I imagine they all want to sleep with you. I bet you’ve had lots of sex in the last couple of months.” For the life of her, now that she’d begun, she couldn’t seem to stop talking.

He cocked his head as if he was thinking. “Define lots.”

Lainey felt suddenly nauseous. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about you making love with anyone else.”

“I don’t really understand this line of questioning, since you are the one who left in a furor without a backwards glance. But since you asked, I haven’t made love with anyone else. I wouldn’t call it making love. I’d call it…fucking? Yeah, that’s it, fucking. But I haven’t made love with anyone else. Because none of them were you.”

He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. “Lainey.”

“What?” she said, and then his lips were on hers. He kissed her slowly, sweetly. He gently braced her neck with both hands and deepened the kiss. She braced her hands on his biceps. He felt safe and warm, his taste sweet and familiar. When he pulled away, he opened his eyes and smiled.

Near her ear, in a low voice, he said, “I have wanted those lips for so long.”

He bit her earlobe gently. She whimpered.

“Lainey? Let’s go home.”

 

******************************************

 

Lainey’s father still lived on the Butler family compound in a large restored Antebellum home with a carriage house behind it that had been converted into a guest house. Since she’d been in art school, Lainey had been living alone in the carriage house. It was a perfect arrangement: she had the freedom she craved, and her parents, especially her father, could keep a protective eye on her whereabouts.

Paul let out a low whistle as he navigated the long tree-lined drive and neared the two story mansion with the white Greek Revival columns lining the front porch. “This is where you live?”

“My dad lives here. I live around the back.” She pointed to a parking area off to the right.

“I thought the record business was dying.”

Lainey snorted a laugh. “It is. My great great grandfather was a watchmaker in Ireland. He came over to America and did fairly well, I guess. But my dad is an only child, and kind of a free spirit. He’s managed to lose almost everything but the house.”

 

As they struggled to pull the soft top up on the Jeep, an aging Golden Retriever lumbered up to Paul and gave out a single bark.

“Hello, old fella. What are you doing out here?” Paul stopped working on the roof long enough to ruffle the dog’s ears.

“That’s Jackson, my dad’s dog. He has a doggie door, he comes and goes. He’s too old to make it to the road or wander off anyway.”

Lainey came around to Paul’s side to zip up the side window. Jackson was leaning his ninety pounds against Paul’s leg, panting softly. “My dad’s not home yet. Will you check the porch to see if Jackson has water?”

“C’mon boy.” Paul bounded off through the night with the dog. Lainey had the Jeep all buttoned up by the time the two of them came back. Paul had a strange look on his face.

“Christ, Lainey. There’s a music room at the back of the house. I just saw a Fender MusicMaster Electric, an EKO bass and God knows what else. And a Wurlitzer electric piano. Come and look.”

She laughed a little at his excitement. “I know what’s in there, remember? I sort of live here.”

He was bouncing from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together. “I’d love to get my hands on that Wurly.”

“We’ll do it. Tomorrow, after my dad goes to work.”

“Right.” After a last longing look over his shoulder, Paul followed her through the oversized door of the carriage house. The bottom floor was a combined living room kitchen area, with a set of wooden stairs in the back leading to the loft which housed the bedrooms and bathroom.

Jackson followed them in and collapsed with a groan on the rug in front of the front door, his head on his paws.

After a quick look around, Paul walked straight to the refrigerator.

“You’re hungry,” Lainey said, feeling a little guilty that she’d taken him to the river instead of offering him food right away.

“Famished.”

He surveyed the options while Lainey pulled out a package of cheddar cheese slices.

“I haven’t been to the grocery lately. Will grilled cheese do?”

“Sounds fab.”

 

“…Neil says the fans seem to be getting more amped up all the time.” Paul finished his story about the latest near escape from fans in Blackpool.

“Where are you playing next?” Lainey smiled to herself. “I mean, just in case I don’t feel like Googling it.”

“Cor, I dunno. Scotland, then more of England and Sweden I think. November is booked solid.”

Paul pulled apart the toasted bread, added a huge pile of dill pickles to the melted cheese and offered the jar to Lainey.

“No thanks, weirdo.” She watched him take a bite and rub a hand across his mouth. “Fuck me. This is the best fuckin cheese and dill sandwich I’ve ever fuckin had.”

Lainey pulled out a half-empty bottle of Liebfraumilch and filled two glasses. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Paul picked up his glass and touched it to hers. “To the future, Lainey love.”

“Cheers,” Lainey said with a half smile.

She watched him eat, listening to his happy babble as she sipped her wine. The very bottle of wine she had been drinking on the weekend when she’d tortured herself with the Shirtless Paul Web Blitz and cried herself to sleep. Who would have believed that only days later the man himself would be sitting at her kitchen counter, drinking her wine and eating her pickles.

She wanted to be thrilled about it. Part of her was thrilled, to her very toes, but the rational part of her kept hopping ahead to what would happen next. Here he was, in her world, filling her little house with his scent and his electric aura, and all she could think about was the fact that he would soon go back to the excitement of a world on the threshold of Beatlemania while she would remain here missing him more than ever.

Just when she’d started to wonder if she would ever get over him, he was back, infecting her with another dose of his irrepressible charm. And not even bothering to lie about how many other girls had been in his bed since she’d last seen him.

Jackson barked once and Lainey shot off her stool. “My dad’s home, I’m going to let Jackson back out.”

She stood in the doorway, watching the old dog make the trip across the grass to the main house. “Everything good?” her father called from the back porch.

“Yes Dad, good night.”

She turned off the outdoor lights and locked the front door. Paul was standing outside the bathroom upstairs, looking down at her. “Can I use your toothbrush?”

“Oh my god. That’s so gross.”

“It’s not like we haven’t already—“

“I’ll find you a new toothbrush, hang on.”

Lainey climbed the stairs with a strange sense of foreboding. If only she’d had time to prepare herself for Paul flinging himself back into her life. If only there was somebody she could talk to about him. There was no one. Not Kate, not her mom, not her sweet Grandmother Marie.

Paul was at the end of the hall now, gazing into the spare bedroom that Lainey used as an office. She picked up the pace when she saw him go inside the room. There was really no telling what she’d left out for him to discover. Beatles porn on her iPad? An open box of tampons? A vibrator? Who knew?

She found him standing in front of her spare closet, looking through her clothes. “Do you have any T-shirts I could wear while I’m here?”

“I don’t know, I could probably get some vintage Beatles shirts out of my dad’s closet. Do you like Lennon?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I like Lennon.” He held up a faded black T-shirt with the image of a heavily tattooed Adam Levine crooning into a microphone. “Who is this assclown?”

“My future husband.”

She reached for the shirt but Paul held it out of her reach. “It’s like he’s singing right into my soul,” he said in his girliest voice.

“Shut up!” Lainey snatched the shirt out of his hands and hung it in the back of the closet and firmly pulled the doors closed. “Do you want that toothbrush or not?”

With Paul in the bathroom, Lainey dashed to her bedroom and began frantically scooping clothes off the floor and sweeping cosmetics into her top dresser drawer. She had just smoothed the coverlet on the bed when Paul appeared at the doorway.

 

He shot a glance at her double bed. “That’s a really small bed you have there.”

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

Then it hit her. Paul had arrived with the clothes he had on and her backpack, and nothing else.

“You really don’t have any clothes with you. Or anything.”

He patted his hip pocket. “I brought my wallet. I have money. Two hundred American dollars.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hey big spender.”

“I brought far more than I’d need. To account for inflation.”

She smiled. “I see.”

“So. I can buy whatever I need.” He shot a glance at the acoustic guitar leaning against the window frame. “I wouldn’t mind having a guitar while I’m here though.”

“You can use mine. Or we can grab one from the house tomorrow.”

He nodded. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

“I have school early, and work after that…but maybe I could get out of work…”

“Or I could go with you. I’d fancy spending a few hours in your record store. Do you have a sound booth?”

Lainey nodded. “We do. And we’re right next door to a guitar store.”

“I think I’m going to enjoy it here. Very much.” His footsteps were slow and deliberate as he closed in on her. “I’ve missed you Lainey.” His eyes journeyed down her body and back up, pausing at her breasts.

They were almost touching, and Lainey felt her brain turn to mush. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back.

He laughed and took another step closer. “Is everything all right, Lainey? You seem…different.”

“Different how?” Her little bedroom seemed far too warm. She blew out a breath. “I’m going to turn on the air.” She bolted from the room.

When she returned clutching a cold glass of water, Paul was sitting on her bed in a white T-shirt and jeans, opening and closing the cover of her Kindle. His leather shoes were lined up next to her bed, and his light blue dress shirt was folded neatly on the top of her dresser. He looked tired and beautiful. “The fuck is this anyway?”

“Oh nothing. Just the latest five hundred books I’m reading.”

“Hah. If you say so.”

She handed him the glass. “Here’s some water if you want it.”

“Thanks love.”

She took a step back, watching him bring the cool water to his lips. All the nights she’d fallen asleep longing to be with him again, and now the idea of him being here, sitting on her bed, was completely freaking her out. She grabbed a scrunchy off her dresser and pulled her hair up off her neck.

Paul put down the Kindle and the water, braced his hands on his knees and looked at her. “I’m getting a strange vibe from you tonight.”

Lainey stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not really sure you want me to be here.”

She bit her bottom lip, thinking of how to give him an honest answer. “Of course I want you. I just don’t _want_ to want you.”

He nodded. “I should have thought of this. I mean, I knew that I would see you again. But you thought we were over.”

“I did.” She swallowed hard.

“And I still feel like you’re my girl.”

Lainey’s whole body sighed at that comment. Paul scratched his jaw, and her gaze followed the movement of his hand. She knew exactly how his stubble would feel on every sensitive part of her body. Thinking about it almost made her knees buckle.

“Tell you what, Lainey. I’m knackered. I’ve been traveling for two days. Why don’t we get our heads down for a kip. And in the morning, I’ll court you again, if that’s what it takes.”

“You’ll what?”

He stood up, taking off his T-shirt as he walked to her. “I know this is fast for you, but I remember exactly how good it is between us and I want you very, very much. And I promise to let you catch up.”

“What are you doing?”

He tossed his shirt on the dresser. “We’re going to sleep.”

In one quick movement, he pulled her dress up and over her head, leaving her standing in the middle of her bedroom in her bra and panties.

She had the urge to cover herself, but he wasn’t even looking. With his back to her, he slid out of his jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Back at the bed, he lifted the covers and climbed in. He patted the empty space beside him and finally looked at her. “It’s not like we haven’t slept together without having sex before. It’ll be duck soup.”

“Duck soup. Right.” Lainey was sure her heart would pound right out of her chest. She pointed at the door. “I’ll just go brush my teeth and—“

Paul’s eyes were already closing.

He looked to be asleep when she came back into her room with her face scrubbed and her breath minty and her heart rate somewhat under control.

She climbed into bed beside him and he involuntarily opened his arms, letting Lainey rest her head on his shoulder.

She couldn’t help smiling, because he was really here. Warm and solid and so real and in her bed. It was ridiculous and insane. And kind of amazing.

“Good night, Paul,” she whispered, closing her eyes without missing him for the first time in months.


	24. Who Are You When I'm Not Looking

Lainey awoke to memories of drifting off to sleep with Paul’s steady heartbeat beneath her head and the feel of his strong arms around her. She stretched her arms to either side of the bed. No Paul. She jerked upright. What if he’d already vanished back to 1963 with her ring again?

A soft thrum of a beautiful sound reached her ears, and she tiptoed to the hallway and peeked over the railing. She could see the back of Paul’s dark head bent over her Gibson acoustic. A melancholy melody poured from the guitar.

The next thing she did was grab her phone and check the headlines on Yahoo. Surely if anything had happened to Paul McCartney it would be headline news. The Democratic National Convention opened in Charlotte and teachers were striking in Chicago. Violence reported in Syria. The West Nile virus raged. And somehow the world continued to spin.

She pulled on a soft pair of sweats and a Pink Floyd T-shirt and crept into the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash her face.

When she got downstairs, she saw that Paul was playing her guitar upside down to account for being left-handed. “That’s a neat party trick.”

He smiled up at her. “Mind if I restring it?”

“I don’t mind.”

With the guitar across his lap, he started unwinding the first string. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmhmm. You’re even better than a boyfriend pillow.”

He nodded toward the black flat screen in front of them. “That your telly?”

“Sure is.”

“Where is the on button?”

Lainey picked up the remote and sat down beside him. Much closer than necessary. So close that they were touching from shoulder to thigh. She made sure he was watching as she pressed the power button.

Then she watched his face, his huge eyes growing larger as the screen flickered to life. 

“It’s in color. I knew that was comin’.”

“Pretty, huh?”

“It’s like being at the bloody cinema.”

“What do you want to watch? Music videos?”

She flicked through the channels and landed on CMT.

Paul’s hands stopped working on the guitar. He looked completely mesmerized. Lainey sighed. It seemed like every modern man she met was either sports obsessed or video game obsessed. She wondered if she would lose Paul forever now to country music videos.

“You hungry? You like French toast?”

His eyes didn’t move from the screen. “Sure.”

A short time later she looked up from the stove to see Paul still fixated on the screen, not moving a muscle.

“My sweet English arse…Is this real?” he was saying. “Check out this bird having a bubble bath.”

“Every country music video has a girl in a bathtub now.”

She went up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck just as he let out a groan.

She giggled. “This video is really getting to you isn’t it?”

“Look at that bloody acoustic/electric, Lainey. Takamine, is it? See how he’s got the capo on the second fret? He’s picking the verses and when the chorus starts he strums the notes. The bridge pickup is sweet as hell.”

“And I thought you were groaning over the hot girl.” She placed her lips just behind his ear, smiling as he shivered a response. He took her hands, tugging her closer until they were cheek to cheek.

“Fancy a bubble bath?” he suggested the moment the video turned into a Chevrolet commercial.

Lainey laughed. “Breakfast is ready.”

Paul stood next to the breakfast bar, his arms stretched over his head, causing his shirt to ride up several inches. A treasure trail of dark hair ran down his lean stomach into his rumpled jeans, unbuttoned at the top. Lainey was pretty sure he wasn’t wearing underwear.

“See anything you like?”

She flicked her eyes away. ‘Orange juice okay?” She fumbled the bottle of juice, almost dropping it.

He leaned across the counter, grinning at her. “I’ll give you a closer look if you fancy. All you gotta do is ask.”

“As long as I don’t have to stand in line.” She gave him a smirk.

“Lainey.” He said her name like it was a disappointment to him. “Come back home with me and there won’t be a line.”

“I’ll bet.”

He pouted at her for a minute and then sat down, forking a bite of French toast into his mouth. “Mmm. I could get used to you spoiling me.”

“I like feeding you,” Lainey admitted. “You’re very grateful.”

He shrugged. “When you lose your mum at fourteen you’re always grateful for a home cooked meal.”

Lainey sighed. Paul had this quality that made it hard to decide whether she wanted to mother him or strip him naked. It was maddening.

“How do people ever leave the house in this day and age?” he said between bites. “Cor, that picture on your telly, I won’t even be able to describe it to John. It’s beyond my facility for words.”

“People have to leave the house to make money to pay for cable and wifi I guess.”

“I don’t want to beat a dead horse, but sometimes I understand only about 35% of everything you say.

“S’okay. You’ll catch up by 2012. How is John, by the way?”

Paul was midway through a story about John “taking the Mickey” out of a journalist when Lainey’s ringtone sounded from inside her purse. She dug it out and frowned at the screen. “It’s my Mom,” she said to Paul. “I should take this.”

He shrugged. “Give her my love.”

“Hi Mom.” Lainey straightened the kitchen while she listened with the phone trapped between her shoulder and her ear. “Good, I’m glad he likes England.” Her Mom had gotten an email from Matt. This was going to be a long conversation.

Ten minutes later, Paul had rinsed his plate and wandered back into the living room to gawk at another girl in a bubble bath being serenaded by a guitarist, when there was a knock at the door. Lainey jumped. Oh hell…it’s Tuesday! she realized with a start.

She pressed the phone to her mid-section. “Shit!” she hissed. “Don’t answer that!” she said to Paul.

“Mom, I gotta go, Kate is here!” she said to her mother.

“Goodbye, baby girl,” her mother said. “Call me tonight?”

Lainey dropped the phone on the counter and ran into the living room. “Oh shit, I forgot about Kate! She cannot see you. You have to go!”

Paul looked calmly up from the guitar he was unstringing. “Who’s Kate?”

There was another knock at the door, louder this time.

“Oh god.” Lainey scraped her fingers through Paul’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. As soon as she released her hands it fell back perfectly into the Beatles cut.

“What’s with you?” Paul said.

“You have to do something about this hair. There is no way Kate won’t recognize you.”

She grabbed the guitar out of his lap and pointed at the stairs. “Go!”

“Jeez, Lainey. Keep your hair on.” He retrieved the guitar from her and headed for the stairs, frowning. 

When he had disappeared into the bathroom, Lainey took a deep breath and opened the door. Kate looked like the stereotypical art student in ripped jeans and a black and white plaid shirt over a Bon Iver concert T-shirt. Her Chuck Taylors were covered with handwritten lyrics and looked like they’d been around since dinosaurs roamed the earth. Her delicately tinted strawberry blonde hair was covered by a soft white beanie. 

“Katie! I totally forgot what day it was!” They had a standing date on Tuesdays, carpooling to school an hour early for breakfast at a coffee shop on campus.

“That’s cool, I’ll wait.”

“No! I mean…I haven’t even showered. My mom was on the phone. You know how she is.”

“How’s Matt?” Kate asked.

“Great! So, I’ll meet you at school?”

“Why are you being weird?” Kate focused on something behind Lainey and her eyes grew as big as quarters. Lainey didn’t even have to turn around. 

“Ello, love, I’m James.”

“Oh. Hi. I’m K-Kate.” Kate stammered. She blinked rapidly a few times at Lainey before openly staring at Paul.

Paul’s arm slipped around Lainey’s shoulders. “Come on in. We’re just watching telly.”

“Oh no, she can’t, really. We’re late. For school.” Lainey dared a glance at Paul. He had used water, or something, to hold his hair back off his forehead. She stared at him. Barefoot, unshaven, in his white T-shirt and jeans, he looked like Paul McCartney’s hot Irish cousin.

“Well, that’s too bad. Maybe next time, yeah?” He gave Lainey’s arm a squeeze. “You’re late for school?”

Lainey nodded. Was it her imagination, or was he drawing a heart with his thumb on the inside of her elbow? Either way, it was driving her wild. She seemed to have lost the power of speech.

“All right love, I’ll just head upstairs and start a bubble bath for you.” WINK.

“Pleasure meeting you, Kate.”

“Oh yeah…you too…er…James.”

They silently watched him climb the stairs.

“Who the fuck is that?” Kate whispered.

“I think he said James,” Lainey said, bringing a hand to her face.

“I’ll go start a bubble bath for you?” Kate hissed.

“He’s English,” Lainey said, brushing the question away. There was no time start explaining CMT videos right now.

“I noticed.” Kate gripped Lainey’s arm. “Is this the guy? The one with no internet?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit! He’s hot!”

“I know.”

“This is the guy you banged in England who didn’t call you for two months?” Kate demanded.

“Ssh! It's a little more complicated...but yeah, that's the one.”

“And he just showed up? Shit. I hope you headbutted him and then banged him senseless.”

“Ha! Neither of those things happened but both probably should have.”

“Okay, sister, we need to talk.”

“We do,” Lainey agreed.

Kate made the “call me” sign by her ear and headed for the red shiny jelly bean she drove. “Headbutt him, then bang him senseless.”

“Got it.” Lainey waved and firmly closed the door, sighing against it.

Paul had met Lainey's dad and now Kate, and neither of them seemed to suspect a thing. Were they really pulling this off? Could she actually have Paul McCartney for a week or two or forever and the world would keep spinning madly on like nothing had changed? 

She needed to give him a quick lesson on how to use the remote. The hundred or so cable channels should keep him occupied for the four hours she would be away at school. Then, with his hair combed back that way and a band T-shirt from her father’s house, they might actually be able to go out in public. They might get some strange looks, but no one would ever expect to come face to face with twenty-one year old Paul McCartney. They could do this. Duck soup.

The sound of Paul whistling from the bathroom made her grin. She could get used to having him around.


	25. Lightning Striking Again

Morning classes seemed to drag on and on. Lainey must have checked the time on her phone a dozen times, willing time to pass so she could get back to the Beatle in her bedroom.

He was on her couch, barefoot in his jeans and dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a yellow mechanical pencil tucked behind his ear, looking serenely self-possesed as he hunched over her restrung Gibson acoustic. The television was on, playing music videos with the sound off.

Lainey’s backpack was beside him on the floor, and a school notebook was open on the table in front of him.

He stopped playing and looked up at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Looking down at that peaceful, expressive face, the open way he was looking at her, Lainey found it hard to believe he could ever tell a lie. Her body tingled with warmth from his gaze. “Thank you,” she said softly, a little embarrassed. She searched for a change of subject, but he beat her to it.

He strummed the guitar and began to sing, letting each word linger in the exquisite tone of his voice.

 _“It’s a risk but you make it worth taking_  
_This time I’m not letting go_  
_Don’t tell me it’s over, just hold me closer_  
_Come back and kiss me hello”_

Then he shot her his sexy smile.

 _My god, would she ever get used to it?_ Her knees started to buckle. She lowered herself to the couch, dropping a pile of clothes between them.

Paul put down the guitar. “How was your day, gorgeous?”

“It was good. We’ve been making suit jacket patterns. I stopped by the house and picked up some of Matt’s clothes that he didn’t take to England.”

Paul held up a dark green T-shirt with a logo of mountain peaks that read “SAY YES TO ADVENTURE.”

“I never say no to adventure.”

Lainey handed him a pair of soft grey cutoff sweatpants with a tiny Nike swoosh on the hip. “It’s humid out today, I thought you’d want some shorts. And flip flops.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Flip flops?”

“I didn’t have a lot to choose from.”

“You mean rubber thongs. Thanks, love.”

“And…I have some time before work if you want to check out the music room.”

“Abso-bloody-lutely.”

Paul leaned over to place a kiss on Lainey’s cheek, his forearm _accidentally_ brushing across her breast. His arm stayed put while he made exaggerated kissing noises from her cheek to her ear. She closed her eyes and inhaled his warm, woodsy scent. He smelled delicious. She was a few seconds away from wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down with her onto the pile of University of Richmond T-shirts, when he straightened, gave her a wink, and went whistling away toward the bathroom with her brother’s clothes.

Lainey slumped back against the couch cushions, one hand spread over her racing heart. _That man._

Her gaze fell to the open school notebook on the coffee table. It looked like Paul had been working on a song when she walked in. On the left side were guitar notations and instructions: ‘D7 open,’ ‘C then strum twice,’ ‘Capo the 3rd fret?’ followed by scribbled lyrics that filled the two pages. At the top of the page Paul had written ‘Lainey Love.’

Lainey scanned the words, trying to make sense of the arrows indicating chorus and verse, squinting as she tried to make out lines that he’d crossed out and scribbled over.

Her lips moved as she read the words, imagining what the melody might sound like.

 _“Lainey love, take my hand, back in time we’ll go_  
_My heart my dear is the key, stay forever more_  
_With a love like ours, who would want to part_  
_My heart calls for her, singing songs of love_  
_The past is calling for you dear, stay forever more"_ **

 _Oh my god._ He was so getting laid tonight. If not before.

She edged closer, thumbing through the book. To her wonderment, there were handwritten lyrics to early Beatles songs like “Pinwheel Twist” and “Love of the Loved” and “Like Dreamers Do,” followed by songs Lainey recognized from the first two Beatles albums. Then came a few pages of lyrics she didn’t recognize. A completed song, neatly printed out, titled “Kiss Me Hello” was the final entry in the notebook.

The bathroom door opened and Lainey flipped the notebook to the page where Paul had left it and sat back against the cushions so he wouldn’t catch her snooping. She had no idea how he felt about her seeing his work in progress. She wondered how he’d gotten here with his songwriting notebook, then noticed her backpack open on the floor. He must have packed it inside the backpack for his trip to the future. The one item he couldn’t travel without.

Her text alert sounded, and she pulled the phone out of her handbag, her mind still on the magical book full of early Beatles lyrics lying on her coffee table. The music fan in her wanted to spend an entire afternoon studying the pages, searching for a glimmer of how Lennon and McCartney had done it.

Kate’s name and message flashed across the top of her screen: _Hey Homie, call if you want to meet for dinner later. Feel free to bring the hot Brit._

Her hands hovered over the keys as she thought of a response. Did she dare let her 1960s life mix with the present?

Paul was on the stairs before she could come to a decision. She slid the phone back into her purse.

He stood grinning down at her, looking like Paul McCartney’s super hot Irish-American cousin. “Everything fits. Even the flip flops.”

She grinned back. “You look hot.”

His eyes drifted over her simple lavender and white striped T-shirt dress. “You look sexy. Let’s go bend some strings.”

 

The music room had a wall of big windows facing the backyard. The other side of the room was floor-to-ceiling bookcases full of vinyl records, CDs and books. Paul was like a kid in a candy shop. He walked straight to the bookcases, dragging his fingertips across a row of vinyl albums. He gave a low whistle. “I’m going to need more time here.”

Then he moved to her father's collection of guitars. He hefted a Fender Telecaster Thin-line, his fingers strolling up and down its neck. "This will do."

He strummed the strings and looked up at her, brows lifted in amazement. “Hear that loud sweet tone?”

Lainey nodded. “That’s a crazy good guitar. It’s outrageous when you plug it in.”

She sat at the piano bench, facing him, waiting for her own personal show. Paul began a soulful and haunting guitar riff. Deep in concentration, he studied the guitar and slightly manipulated the neck to change the sound. Lainey realized he was playing it upside down. This man had more talent in his little finger than normal people possess in their whole bodies.

She watched the muscles in his forearm moving, his fingers strong and accurate. Her thoughts drifted into other uses for those skilled hands, and she felt the familiar ache she felt in his presence. She thought about telling him how desperately she wanted to lick his arms while he played the guitar, then decided he had more than enough fan girls telling him such things.

He played with a bluesy style, and when he had acclimated himself to playing this particular guitar upside down, he began to hum along and dance a little wiggly dance. Lainey sighed with pleasure. This was turning out to be the Best. Day. Ever.

He’d been playing for only a few minutes when Jade, her father’s long time girlfriend, appeared at the door to the music room. “Well hello there, Lainey Lou.” She glanced at Paul. “And friend.”

Paul stopped playing and crossed the room, his right hand extended. “I’m James.”

“I’m Jade.” The statuesque, red-haired woman gave Paul a toothy smile and a long look before focusing on Lainey. “It sounds so lovely I thought you were playing the stereo.”

Lainey tilted her head at Paul. “He’s very good.”

Jade arched a brow. “I’ll bet.”

Lainey blinked, hoping Jade hadn’t meant the statement as an innuendo. Jade could be a little cuckoo sometimes, but for the most part she was spacey and artsy and brimming with good will and good intentions. Lainey opened her mouth to respond, but Paul was already talking.

“Do you play?” he asked.

Jade waved a hand airily. “Oh no, this is all Lainey’s dad’s collection. He’s a frustrated musician.”

“Ah, maybe because he had a Plan B. That’s the key to making it, you see. Have nothing to fall back on.”

Jade had a look of fascination on her face. “What a lovely speaking voice. Do you sing too?” she asked Paul.

“I’ve been known to sing a few bars.”

“You should go on American Idol.” She gave Paul an appraising glance from head to toe. “You have that panty-dropper rock star look.”

Lainey coughed to hide the laughter that almost burst out. “So how are things? Have you made anything lately?” she blurted.

“Oh, you betcha. You should stop by the studio and have a look at my latest pieces.” Jade was a potter and had been working from a small studio in a far wing of the house for years. She had been dating Lainey’s father for so long that she almost felt like a stepmother. A youngish hippie stepmother, that is. She was airy and carefree and the polar opposite of Lainey’s driven, workaholic mother.

“We will.”

“I’ll let you two go back to making music. There’s some chicken salad in the fridge.” Jade started to go, then turned back to Paul with a friendly smile. “I have a young friend who tried out for American Idol. Come see me later and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Thanks, Jade,” Lainey said, wishing there was a lock on the door to the music room.

“Your dad’s girlfriend?” Paul asked when they were alone again.

“Mmm hmm.”

“She seems nice. What’s American Idol?”

“Don’t even ask.”

Paul went back to the guitar.

“Have you been writing any new songs?” Lainey asked, hoping he would play one of the new songs she’d seen in his notebook. Especially the one with her name in it, for god’s sake.

“Always,” he said without looking up.

“How do you do it?”

“Like this.” He sat beside her on the bench and plucked the strings, repeating a pattern of notes while he watched her intently. “I just sit down with a guitar or the piano and look for melodies, chord shapes, musical phrases, or just a thought to get started with. And then you just work it out, like you’re doing a crossword puzzle.”

“Like a crossword puzzle,” she repeated doubtfully.

“Yeah. You look for something that suggests a melody and then you just fiddle around with it, follow the trail. Sometimes it’s a blind alley and you have to retrace your steps and start down another road. But it’s instinctual. First thought, best thought.”

“Think long, think wrong,” Lainey added, pretending to understand even though she knew there was no way in hell she could come up with an original song no matter how much fiddling around she did.

He played for a few minutes and then patted the body of the guitar.

“It’s becoming a sort of hobby for me, you know? When I have a day off at home, with loads of time on my hands, I might go to the movies or ride around on a motor bike or walk in the woods, but then the afternoon comes and I always gravitate back to the guitar or the piano and I feel myself writing a song. I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing songs.”

She smiled. “I believe you.”

Paul set down the guitar and moved to the Wurlitzer electric piano. He played a few fun songs, Irish ballads and old classics, while Lainey watched with fascination. Was there nothing he couldn’t master? After a few minutes he finished with a flourish and looked at her. “All right, Lainey love. Show me what you can do.”

Lainey swung her legs around to the keyboard, feeling a little awkward playing in front of Paul. She’d had lessons most of her childhood years, but she hadn’t practiced much since moving out of her mother’s home. She was trained to read music, not to play by ear like fabulously talented Paul McCartney. Still, she had a show tune or three up her sleeve for occasions such as these. She started with one of her favorites, “Cantina Band,” a fast, vibrant song with dizzying movements. Her fingers literally blurred before her eyes. She flew through the piece with minimal mistakes and finished with a flourish of her own.

Paul whistled his approval. “What is that, rag time? From Scott Joplin?”

“Star Wars. From a galaxy far, far away.”

“Nice.” He sat on the bench beside her, playing a few notes. He tapped a continuous beat on the Middle C key. “Good sound. I hope to own our family piano one day. It has a history, a texture. A character to the sound. Next time we’re in Liddypool I’ll play something for you.”

She smiled, not even considering correcting him. If Paul McCartney believed there would be a “next time” for them in Liddypool, who was she to disagree?

“Let’s play something together. Do you know any old standards?” He began naming possibilities. Stardust, Lullaby of Broadway, Red Sails in the Sunset, You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby, Moonlight Serenade. When he got to “Baby Face,” Lainey grinned in recognition.

“Yeah? You know that one? Play it with me.” He arranged his hands on the keys.

“Hold up. I don’t like to play with anyone next to me. I feel crowded.” She motioned for Paul to stand up and moved the bench so that it was perpendicular to the piano. She sat in front with her hands on the keys, and Paul sat behind her, his legs straddling hers, his chest pressed to her back, his hands outside hers.

They played through the verses, Paul singing with a jokey blues voice in her ear, mostly playing the notes on the lowest and highest registers of the keyboard but sometimes crossing his arms underneath hers to tickle her and brush against her breasts.

“Want to join a band with me?” he asked when she’d stopped playing and he’d finished the song with rolling chords up the keyboard.

Laughing, she let her head fall back against his shoulder. “You should probably keep the band you have now for at least a few more years. You never know where it might go.”

His arm snaked around her waist. With his breath warm against her ear, he said, “You’re so pretty when you’re happy.”

“I am happy.” She tilted her face to meet his lips. This day was definitely turning out to be the best day ever. They kissed…and kissed…and kissed some more, barely noticing it had started to rain until a clap of thunder shook the house and Jackson shoved his way between their legs and forced himself underneath the piano bench.

“He’s scared of thunder.”

Paul reached a hand down to stroke the dog’s silky ear. It made her heart warm. Another boom. Jackson shivered.

Jade was at the door then, a smile crossing her face at the sight of the two of them sharing the bench with Jackson trembling beneath their legs. “C’mere boy, want a treat? Let’s get your thunder shirt on.”

Jackson’s claws scrabbled against the wood floor as he backed out of the safe cave he’d made for himself.

“Thunder shirt?” Paul questioned when Jade and Jackson were gone.

“Yeah, it’s a tight vest, probably makes him feel like he’s being held. It comforts him.”

“Mmm.” He sucked her ear lobe into his mouth and wrapped both arms tight around her. “Are you scared of thunder?”

She shivered a little and smiled. “Terrified.”

“I’ll hold you tight if you want.”

“I’m not saying no.”

“Let’s go home.”

They were sprinting through the raindrops, almost to the safety of the front door, when Jade’s white Persian cat Snowball dashed in front of them, crying to be let inside out of the rain.

Paul tried to avoid tripping over the cat and caught a flip flop on an edge of the cobblestone path, tumbling and catching himself on his right hand and knee with a string of oaths.

“Bloody ‘ell, you have a cat too?”

Lainey fumbled the door open and reached back for Paul. He was already on his feet, brushing himself off, a trickle of blood oozing from his knee.

Snowball dashed inside and rubbed herself against the couch, meowing a litany about being damp and chilled and uncomfortable.

“Oh Lord, there’s a Beatle bleeding in my living room.” Lainey bent at the waist to study his injury. “Not too bad. You might live to write years and years of beautiful ballads and stirring rock anthems, as long as you don’t get blood poisoning in 2012. Come upstairs, I’ll fix you up.”

They dripped their way up the stairs and into the bathroom, grabbing towels and rubbing at their faces and hair.

Paul sat on the edge of the tub, allowing Lainey to tend to him. She knelt at his feet, cleaned his knee with a warm soapy washcloth, rinsed the cloth with hot water and pressed it to the wound until the bleeding stopped.

In the medicine cabinet she found a tube of antibiotic cream and a box of bandaids. “Which superhero do you want to be?”

“Whichever one gets to see you starkers the soonest.”

Lainey thumbed through the box. “Superman then.” She gave him a smile as she knelt between his legs. “He has x-ray vision. And you do seem to have that ‘million miles away’ Superman stare down pat. Especially when you’re working on a song.”

She finished patching him up and rested her hands on his thighs. “All better?”

“Aren’t you going to kiss it?”

“MWAHH!” Lainey pressed an exaggerated kiss on top of the Man of Steel bandaid. “Anything else hurt?”

“My hand.”

She examined his reddened palm, running her thumb across the calluses on his fingertips. “Not your music playing hand! Oh dear. Nothing looks swollen.” She brought his palm to her lips. “MWAHH!”

She sat back on her heels, smiling up at him. “Anything else?”

His eyes traveled slowly over her. She shivered in her damp dress. Regarding her from head to toe with an unusually deep intensity, he pointed to his lips.

She crawled closer, her hands sliding up his wet shirt and fastening behind his neck. “I can fix that.”

She pressed her lips to his warm mouth, his cold fingers making her shiver again as he wrapped them around the back of her neck.

A bolt of lightning lit up the room, followed by the loudest crack of thunder yet.

“Poor Jackson,” Lainey murmured, distracted only for seconds. She closed her eyes and leaned in for more kissing of those perfect lips.

Paul’s hands slid down her arms. gripping her elbows. She opened her eyes just before he stood and pulled her to her feet.

“I promised I’d hold you tight through the storm,” he murmured, wrapping her in his arms.

Lainey swayed against him. It was possible he smelled even better wet. Unlike Jackson. She inhaled deeply, feeling woozy and aroused. Her hands skimmed his damp T-shirt, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of the soft grey shorts. His erection pressed against her. “You’re not…you’re not wearing any underwear…” The words had hardly left her lips before his mouth was on hers again. He cupped her face with his hands. She could feel the callused fingertips against her cheeks.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.” His voice was rough in her ear. He tugged her down the hallway, kissing her all along the way as they struggled out of their clothes.

By the time they reached the end of the hall, she was down to her panties. He shoved her hard against the bedroom door. She gasped, a little stunned by his roughness.

“Be still,” he said. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and down her body, kneeling between her legs. Her eyes drifted closed.

_Could this day get any better?_

Her fingers tangled in his damp, tousled hair until he grabbed her wrists, pinning them against the door.

He climbed back up her body, squeezing her wrists hard, an eyebrow arched in warning. “Be still, I said.”

He kissed his way back down her body, sliding her panties down her legs. He’d told her to be still, so she didn’t step out of them. Instead, she let her head clunk back against the door and focused on holding herself perfectly still as his mouth slid up the inside of her thigh. She let out a gasp at the feel of his warm tongue. And yes. This day could get even better.

 

 

 


	26. Satisfaction

“Is that James some kind of a wise guy?”

Lainey looked up from her laptop to see her father staring in the direction of the sound booth. She was manning the coffee counter, but as they rarely had customers, her father was technically paying her to do homework. Currently she was researching an essay on the relationship between fashion and dance.

She followed her father’s gaze. Paul was sitting in the sound booth wearing headphones and a guitar he’d managed to snag from the shop next door.

“Why do you say that, dad?”

Her father removed the toothpick he’d been chewing. “He asked me for a list of the top ten LPs of 1964. I said “Ever hear of Google?” and he said “No sir, is that the name of the band or the LP?”

Lainey let out the breath she’d been holding. “He probably didn’t understand you clearly. You have an accent."

" _I_ have an accent?" An eyebrow raised. "Right…So I hook him up with early Beatles, Dylan, Stones, Muddy Waters, the Kinks, the Animals, Beach Boys…” Her father leaned across the counter, tossing the toothpick into a waste basket. “He looks everything over and hands me back “A Hard Days Night” and “Beatles for Sale.” I say what, not a Beatles fan? and he winks and says, “I think I’ll wait and let the Beatles surprise me.”

Lainey gave a nervous laugh. “He has that English sense of humor.”

Her father huffed. “There’s something different about that kid. Can't quite put my finger on it.”

“I know what you mean.” She smiled.

A buzz from the front of the store indicated a new customer, and her father rapped his knuckles on the counter. “You kids can head out if you want.”

“Thanks Dad.”

 

The “customer” turned out to be Brandon, the wanna-be musician who worked evenings in the guitar shop next door and who seemed to think it was only a matter of time before Lainey surrendered to his advances. He propped his elbows on the counter just as she was saving her word docs and shutting down her laptop.

“Hola sexy barista,” Brandon drawled in what he must have thought was a turn on.

“How can I help you, Brandon.” Lainey didn’t bother looking up from the screen.

“I came to get the Fender from your…ah…boyfriend.”

"He's in the sound booth."

“Dude says he’s your boyfriend so I loaned him a guitar.”

Lainey finally looked up. Brandon was wearing black jeans and a Radiohead T-shirt. He was a little taller than Paul, skinny with tattooed arms that were surprisingly muscled, probably from hefting amps in and out of his van. He had pale blue eyes and longish dark blond hair and could pass for one of the art students she went to school with. “That was nice of you, Brandon. Thank you.”

He had a crooked, cocky grin on his face. “I’ve got a gig at the Vintage tonight. You should come. Ditch the boyfriend first.”

“We're going out to dinner, but thanks.”

They both looked up as the door to the sound booth opened. Paul came out carrying a stack of vinyl albums and the Fender.

“Thanks, mate. Love the sound.”

Brandon nodded, taking the guitar. “Cool. You ever play any gigs?”

“Whenever I get a chance.”

"What do you play?"

"Rock 'n' roll, blues, ballads, you name it."

"Where you from?" Brandon asked.

"Liverpool, originally."

"Ah. Home of the most overplayed band in history."

Paul's eyes narrowed. "You mean the Searchers?"

"Thanks for reminding me how much I hate your taste in music, Brandon." Lainey snapped her laptop closed. "Ready Pau...er James?"

Paul gave Brandon a little salute. "Thanks for the loaner. Good luck with your music. Let me know if you need any tips."

Brandon laughed. "You're shitting me."

Lainey clapped her hands loudly and looked pointedly at Paul. "Okay, let's bounce."

 

"Bloody wanker. The fuck is he talking about, most overplayed band in history? That really winds me up.” Paul began grumbling the moment they were in the back room.

"He's an idiot." She slung her purse over a shoulder and turned to face him, taking a moment to appreciate how hot he looked in his “Keep Oregon Passive Aggressive" T-shirt and her brother's Levi's, a size too big, riding low on his hips. His dark hair was tucked beneath a New England Patriots knit beanie, Lainey's idea for a disguise, which made his huge eyes look even larger. Inches away from those honey brown eyes framed by inky lashes, she couldn’t help but suck in a breath. ”My boyfriend is so hot," she mumbled, snaking an arm around his waist and pressing her lips to his neck. "Have any fun tonight?"

“Yeah. But basically I’m just marking time until I get to be inside you again.” His voice rumbled next to her ear.

God. That voice. Would it ever stop making her weak in the knees? She hoped not.

He pouted a kiss for her. “Let’s go home.”

“I promised Kate…we’d meet her…for dinner,” Lainey said, between kisses. She’d been excited to meet Kate tonight, but Paul’s kisses, and that voice, could be very persuasive…

“Mmm. Do I need your best friend’s approval before you give me your heart?” He kissed a path from her lips to her ear.

“Something like that.” Lainey clung to him, her eyelids fluttering closed. Going straight home with Paul was sounding better and better. His hands slid up her sides. She made one last attempt to persuade him to take her dinner. “We don’t want to go to bed hungry, do we—“

The opening riff of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” blared from the overhead speaker.

Paul raised his head, a question mark in his eyes.

“He always does that. It’s closing time.”

He listened for a moment, then began wiggling his hips, his hands on Lainey’s waist, coaxing her to dance with him. “What a bloody great song. Who is this? Is that Mick?”

“The Rolling Stones. Do you already know them?”

“The Stones? Course I know them. Met ‘em last Spring.”

He closed his eyes, moving to the beat, loose and graceful. Lainey could watch him dance all night. “What year is this song?” he said, breaking the trance she was under.

“Um…1965, 66 maybe?”

“Did the Stones make it in America too?”

Lainey laughed. “You could say that.”

The lights in the store began going off one by one. Lainey handed Paul the keys to the Wrangler. Out in the alley, he was still talking about the song they’d just heard. “That guitar riff…just three notes, but what a great three notes…”

“Beatles or Stones?” Lainey asked with a smile.

“What’s that?”

“Classic rock’s greatest debate. Which side are you on?”

“That’s a soft question.” Paul unlocked her door, and she stretched over the front seat of the Jeep, stowing her laptop in the back. She felt a sharp slap on her bottom.

“Ow! Did you just spank me?”

“Now you know what happens when you put that pretty little bottom in front of me.”

“I get spanked?” She climbed into her seat and Paul closed the door. “Maybe I like being spanked,” she yelled as he crossed in front of the car.

He pointed at her through the front window. “Naughty baby,” she thought she saw him say.

He climbed behind the wheel, leaned over and gave her a kiss. “How about you? Beatles or Stones?”

“Beatles all the way. For innovation and consistency. My dad says the moment the Beatles arrived, everything before them was old.”

His grin was from ear to ear. “Your dad says that?”

“Mm hmm.” She buckled her seat belt, then reached over and buckled Paul’s.

“Well, I will say this. We may be just four war babies from Merseyside, but we really do seem to think differently than everyone else. We’re in this to please ourselves, you know? To do things our way.”

He rested a rough, warm hand on her bare knee, and she threaded her fingers with his. “And you end up pleasing a lot of folks along the way.”

“I’ll give you an example,” Paul said, pulling out of the lot. “We’ve been getting offers for films since January. We’ve already turned down five films. We’re not going to do some sort of trite jukebox musical with no story line.”

Lainey smiled to herself. If she had the timeline right, “A Hard Day’s Night” would be a roaring success by next summer. “Good call.”

“Back to your debate. Where do the Stones have an edge over the Beatles?” Paul asked.

“Some people…like Brandon… would say live shows. Although, having been to a Beatles show personally? The energy, the charisma, could not possibly be topped.”

He aimed a smile her way. “The Stones are great live though. We saw them just after we moved to London. We were in some sweaty room watching them whacking out their show. They had this sort of bohemian crowd, everyone having a good time, yelling and dancing on tables.”

Lainey listened, fascinated. What she wouldn’t give to have been there, watching the early Stones, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Beatles in the shadows at the back of a smoke-filled room. “Go on.”

“We went back to their flat, kind of a slum really, dishes piled high, overflowing ashtrays…They played their demos and showed off their American imports,” Paul continued.

“Did you hit it off?”

He shrugged. “You know, sometimes we can project a sort of “Fuck You, We’re Good and We Know It” attitude, and so do they. We have to have that attitude, coming from the provinces, to make it in the South. I mean, fuck it, we were told we’d never make it from a Liverpool base and that we should dump the name The Beatles because it was ugly and stupid and no one would ever remember it. We had to tough it out, prove them wrong.”

Lainey took out her phone to text Kate that they were on their way. Then she gave Paul her attention. “You proved them wrong all right. So you like the Stones personally?”

“Yeah, sure. We talked about how to make money in the music business. Since it’s temporary, you know?”

She smiled. “You think so?”

“It can’t last forever. Any road, Brian and John had a barney about whether or not Jimmy Reed is some sort of heroic legend. Brian got in a paddy, but they found out they both named their sons Julian. Crazy, yeah?”

“What a story. Your life is already amazing.”

Paul fiddled with the radio buttons, selecting a station playing newish country music.

"Can we stop by a petrol station? I need a cigarette dispensary."

"Do you mean a vending machine?" She laughed. "We've come a long way, baby.”

She directed him to the nearest Walgreen’s. “We can get something to drink too.”

“George and I smoked a pack of Lucky Strikes on the way to Virginia. Always wanted to give them a go." He puffed out his chest. "But I reckon I'm more of a Marlboro man.”

Lainey was halfway down the first aisle of the store when she realized Paul wasn’t following. She retraced her steps and found him making a slow circle in the front of the store, a dazed look on his face. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Fuck me, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Ssh! Come on!” She took his hand and pulled him down the aisle.

“Everything is so colorful.” He stopped in front of a huge display of gift cards from every restaurant and store imaginable. “What is this?”

“They’re sort of like prepaid credit cards.”

“What’s a credit card?”

Oh, wow. So much to tell him. “Don’t worry, you don’t need them for cigarettes.”

She tugged at his hand.

"Is there a soda fountain like in American films?"

"Not any more,” she said, laughing. Sorry, you just missed it. There are bottles of drinks though.”

Lainey never realized how fascinating her local drug store could be. There were several more stops and explanations before they reached the row of refrigerated beverages.

“Bloody Nora! Look at the choices.” Paul opened a door and pulled out a bottle of Coca-Cola. “The hell is this? Does it taste the same in plastic?”

“I wouldn’t know, but it’s either plastic bottles or cans.”

He reached for another bottle. “You fancy one?”

“No, I’ll take a water though.” She opened another door and selected a bottle of Smart Water.

“What’s that? Fizzy water?”

“No…just water.”

“Don’t you have water fountains?” Paul asked as they walked to the register.

“Um…actually, not much any more. People drink bottled water a lot.”

“Is the tap water safe here?”

“Of course, silly.”

He stopped walking. “Then why would you pay for water?”

Lainey laughed. “I don’t know, Paul. Tastes better I guess. People do a lot of crazy things nowadays.”

 

Outside the store, Paul stared at the coins in his hand. "This can't be right. I gave the cashier a twenty.”

“Cigarettes are expensive,” Lainey explained.

“What d’you mean, they were 27 cents on the way here.”

"Welcome to the future.”

On the drive to the downtown district, Paul couldn’t seem to get over the fact that Lainey thought nothing of spending two dollars on a bottle of plain water. Somehow that led into a discussion of the “necessities” of modern life that people had no need for in his era. Lainey totaled the amount an average person spent on cell phone plans, wifi, cable television and music and movie streaming services, none of which made any sense to Paul.

“Lainey, stop paying for all that shit. You could fly back and forth to London every month on all that money!”

“You’re probably right, but I need all that. We need that stuff now.” The phone in her hand buzzed and she looked down. “Kate and Ryan are already at the pub.” She texted a quick response.

“What are you doing right now, time traveling?”

“Of course not. I’m letting Kate know we’re almost there.”

At the next stop light she tilted the phone so Paul could see the message she’d just sent. “It’s a typical iPhone, everyone has them. I don’t know how it gets me back to the future, but it happens when I hear my mom’s voice or get a call from her.”

He grabbed the phone, scrolling a finger down the messages the way he’d apparently seen her doing.

Her text alert sounded again. She reached for the phone. “Don’t read that.”

“You’re probably parked somewhere with JAMES right now. You probably have your legs wrapped around his neck and he’s wearing you like a necklace,” he read aloud.

“Oh my god. Give me the phone.”

He held it out of her reach, fending her off with an elbow. “Wait. This is getting good.” Another text alert. “Is he tickling your belly button from the inside?” Paul hooted with laughter.

“Give me that!”

A horn sounded behind them. Paul’s attention snapped back to the road.

“The light is green.” Lainey snatched the phone out of his hand, tucking it safely into her handbag.

“You sure you don’t want to pull over, darlin, and let me have a go at tickling that belly button?”

“Please pretend you didn’t see that text and never say those words again. We’re almost there.”

In the parking lot, Paul dragged the beanie off his head and swept a hand through his hair.

“You have to leave it on,” Lainey protested. “Remember my dad saying you were a dead ringer for Paul McCartney?”

“And now I’m a dead ringer for a wanker.”

“No, sweetie, men wear all sorts of things in bars nowadays. You look perfect.”

He sighed and rearranged the beanie while Lainey twisted her hands in her lap.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked quietly.

She forced her hands to be still. “I’m not nervous.”

“Yes you are. Do you think your friend won’t like me?”

“No, it’s not that at all.” She rubbed her palm up and down his thigh. “It’s me I’m worried about. I’m afraid I’ll call you Paul instead of James or give something away and everyone will suddenly know who are and some reporter from the Richmond Times Dispatch, which is right around the corner by the way, will suddenly appear and start taking pictures and we’ll be front page news tomorrow.”

Paul leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Babe. We got this.”

She bit her lip, hoping he was right.

“Listen, if we’re going to spend time in each other’s worlds, we have to learn to roll with it.”

“Just be cool, you mean.”

He nodded. “Exactly. I have an idea. Let’s get everyone bombed and you can call me James, Paul, or belly button tickler, or any thing you want.”

“Right,” Lainey said, laughing. “Bottoms up.”

She started to get out of the car, then stopped. “Oh. There’s something else. They may be playing Beatles music in here, so don’t act surprised. Just roll with it.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Just be cool.”

 

“Penny Lane Pub?” Paul’s eyes widened when he read the lettering above the door.

Lainey slipped her hand into Paul’s. “The proprietor is from Liverpool. I thought you’d like a little something to remind you of home.”

His response was lost in a flurry of strawberry blonde hair and skinny pale arms and pachouli perfume oil as Kate threw herself at Lainey. “Where have you been, Lainey Pop, we’ve been drinking for hours!”

“I could tell. By your texts.” Lainey dropped Paul’s hand and surrendered to the hug as Kate rocked her from side to side on the sidewalk in front of the pub.

Then Kate stepped out of the hug, gave Paul a once-over, and punched him in the shoulder.

He laughed a little, clearly surprised. “What was that for, you daft girl?”

“You can’t just swoop in from Europe and whisk my BFF away for yourself.” Kate wagged her finger in Paul’s face until he captured her hand in his.

“Understood. Tonight we’ll all share.” He laughed and winked at her, and Kate’s saucy self assurance seemed to wilt a little.

Ryan reached over to shake Paul’s hand. “Hey man. I’m Ryan.”

“I’m James,” Paul said, and Lainey whistled a thankful breath that she hadn’t accidentally introduced him as Paul.

Kate leaned in close. “He’s fucking hot!” she whispered.

“Yep. Uh huh.”

“Honestly? I’m surprised you showed up tonight. I might’ve stayed home and broken out the bondage toys—“

“Ssh!” Lainey squeezed her friend’s arm. “Be cool,” she warned, as much to herself as to Kate.

“You a Pats fan?” Ryan asked.

Paul looked blank.

“The Patriots hat?” Ryan said helpfully.

“His luggage was lost,” Lainey said quickly. “He’s wearing my brother’s clothes. Which is weird, because it’s like dating my brother. Only it’s nothing like dating my brother. At all.”

Paul raised an eyebrow at her. “Be cool” was written all over his face. She knew she was babbling. She needed a drink. Or six.

“Aw man, that sucks,” Ryan said. “What airline lost your luggage?”

“Pan Am,” Paul said, at the same instant Lainey said, “Delta.”

A puzzled look crossed Ryan’s face. “Does Pan Am still exist?”

“He meant to say Delta. Let’s have some adult bevvies. Straightaway.” Lainey led the way into the pub.

They sat in the courtyard near a fountain, because the night was warm and moonlit. When the adult bevvies arrived, Lainey started to relax.

There were rounds of imported Fullers ESB followed by ooeey gooey grilled cheese sandwiches and crisp sweet potato fries, and free flowing conversation peppered with laughter and wisdom.

Kate was harmlessly three sheets to the wind, Ryan was one of the most easy-going souls Lainey had ever known, he and Paul seemed to find each other hilarious, and Lainey forgot to be nervous about anything at all.

An older man with the cutest accent Lainey had ever heard came by to check on them and ask after their meals. Paul’s drink froze midair and his tongue caught between his teeth. Ryan and Kate joked with the host for a few minutes, but Paul grew strangely quiet. Lainey watched him pick up the menu and read over the history of the pub. He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip, seemingly lost in thought.

“Everything okay?” Lainey asked, when the elderly gentleman had gone back inside the main pub.

Paul leaned close to her ear. “I know that bloke.”

“Who?”

“The proprietor. Terry O’Neill. He’s only a couple of years older than I am, back in Liverpool. He works at the Cavern.”

“Shit…did he recognize you?” she whispered.

“Course not, how could he? He’d think he was off his head, wouldn’t he?”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Lainey, do I look as old as that bloke, in 2012 I mean?”

She thought for a minute he was joking, but he looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. She slipped her hand in his. “Trust me, you look nothing like that in 2012. You’re still sparky and driven and women adore you. You’ve still got it.”

He shook his head. “Can you imagine how you’d feel if you saw something like that? A fella you know suddenly turn into an old man?”

“Pretty damn freaked out,” Lainey admitted.

“Hey, guys! Guys! Picture time!” Kate was waving her phone around. She pushed her face close to Paul’s and Ryan stood behind the group and leaned over into the shot.

Kate checked the picture and elbowed Paul. “James! Smile this time.”

Several more pictures were taken, with Paul looking a little less dazed each time. Lainey squeezed his hand and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “Hey boyfriend.”

“Hey girlfriend.”

“I’m really happy you’re here.”

His smile was genuine this time.

Another round of Fullers ESB and Paul seemed to forget all about growing older.

“I got this,” Paul said when the red-haired waitress with a noticeable Irish accent brought the check at the end of the night. Lainey watched him place a hundred dollar bill underneath the check without looking at it.

They waved their goodbyes and called “be safe” and “see you soon” and watched as Kate and Ryan walked away arm in arm.

“That was fun,” Paul said.

“Really? Because you got a little weirded out about the old guy.”

“Yeah, well here’s something else weird.” He opened his palm, showing her a single twenty dollar bill. “This is all the waitress gave me back from my hundred. Should I say something?”

“Did you tip her?” Lainey asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Course I did, I’m not a savage.”

Lainey calculated the food and the drinks. “That’s about right then.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“Paul, what is the problem?”

“My peasant arse! I can’t even afford to date you in your time! One night in and I’m already dead skint! Poor as shit!”

“It doesn’t matter, we don’t need any more money, we’ll eat in and play music and watch television and roll around in my tiny little bed.”

She used her most soothing voice. He still looked upset. “Naked,” she added. “Starkers in my itty bitty bed.”

Paul began to laugh. “God, Lainey, I thought I was so flush when I got here.”

“Easy come, easy go,” she said, taking his hands and swinging him around on the sidewalk. “Now will your peasant arse please take me home?”

They giggled all the way home. Paul would say something like “a bottle of water costs two fucking dollars” or Lainey would say “a pack of Lucky Strikes for 27 cents, I don’t think so!” and they would dissolve into fits of laughter.

In the kitchen, Lainey poured two glasses of water. “From the tap, sir, just the way you like it.”

On tiptoes, she stretched up and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Those lips. To think that only last week she was sure she’d never feel those soft, plump lips again.

He held her face in his hands, his eyes fastened on her lips. “My lovely girlfriend. I missed this pretty mouth of yours.”

Their kisses grew heated, and she pulled him flush against her with a finger hooked in his belt loop. Then her hands dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans. Because she needed to know.

“You aren't wearing any underwear again.”

“Only have one pair.”

“We need to go shopping.”

“Can’t. No money. I’ll have to just stay here inside you so I won't need any clothes.”

“You're a genius.”

She tugged his hand, leading him up the stairs, flicking off lights all along the way, until they were in her bedroom, bathed in silvery moonlight from the single window behind the bed.

He jerked the beanie off his head, slinging it across the room and shaking out his hair. Then he whipped off his shirt, prowling toward her bare-chested. Off came her dress in a single movement, followed quickly by her bra. When his mouth found her breast, it sent an electrical signal shooting through her body, a spasm of longing between her legs.

Shoes were kicked off. His belt rasped off, belt buckle clinking against the floor. He undid the button on his jeans, adjusted himself with a single movement, and there he was, huge and alive and hers for the night. She wriggled the jeans down his slim hips, her hands all over him, pulling him toward her cozy little bed.

They fell together onto the mattress, and it was exactly the right size for the two of them. He was lying on top of her, situated between her legs, the silk of her panties all that remained between them. Her legs slid up his hips, her body giving beneath his. Three rough grinds against her, fucking her through her clothes. She whimpered, desperate to be with him again. “Paul.”

He groaned. “Cor, Lainey. I’ve been obsessing about this for months now. I’m drunk on you. I’m fucking drunk on you, girl.”

It felt like she counted to a hundred in the time it took her to breathe. “Uh huh.”

He pressed forward, rigid against the warm heat of her. “Fuck,” he growled, pressing his lips to her neck as he rocked against her, sucking and licking her skin. When he groaned next to her ear, she felt the sound all the way down her body and between her legs.

“Condom,” Lainey rasped, reaching a hand out blindly to yank open the drawer of the nightstand.

He rolled away, fumbling around in the open drawer and coming out with a foil wrapped package, while Lainey wriggled out of her soaked panties.

Paul ripped the package open with his teeth and knelt between her legs, unrolling the sheath and sliding it over his length. Quite possibly the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

Her hands were on him again, insistent, frantic, tugging him down, gasping as he pushed inside her, an inch at a time, until her hands gripped his ass and pulled him forward, rocking with him to get him deeper, all the way inside.

“I missed you,” he said into her skin. “Fuck, the feel of you…so warm. So good.”

They moved together, slowly at first, easing in and out. “You’re good?” he asked, checking in.

She nodded. “I’m good.”

“You smell good. You feel fantastic.”

She silenced him by covering his mouth with hers, her fingers tangled in his hair. Her hips rolling beneath him, showing him what her body wanted. She wanted him, more of him, grinding against her, faster, harder. Her breasts moved beneath him, her hips rising from the bed.

“Oh god,” she said on an exhale, and then it was like a rush of tiny explosions cascading inside her and she was crying out, arching up, and scratching her nails down his back.

Sex with Paul left her feeling drugged and floaty, hugging her secrets to herself.  
She would have been happy to lie in his arms, feeling his breath on her raw, kissed lips, until the sun came up in the morning.

He cuddled with her for five minutes before suddenly sitting up. “I need my song notebook.”

“Right now?” To her disappointment, he pulled on his jeans and headed for the living room, leaving the bedroom door open.

The melody from the guitar sounded a little like the song “I Will” and a little like nothing Lainey had ever heard before. She smiled vaguely to herself, wondering if their long day together and night of reunion sex had inspired him to write something.

She closed her eyes and turned her face into the pillow, drifting off to the sound of Paul’s fingers on the guitar strings late into the night.


	27. To Be Continued

Lainey awoke to tobacco smoke, guitar music, and an empty space beside her. She fumbled for her phone. It wasn't even eight in the morning. There were multiple texts from Kate: 

 

**_Tell your hottie thanks for last night. Dinner at my place this week?_ **

**_How's the Brit in the sack? He looks like he'd be fun._ **

**_Boom chicka wow wow_ **

**_Make sure he leaves with your phone number this time._ **

 

There was a photo attached of the four of them at the bar last night. Drunk and happy. Paul looked a little dazed.

Lainey was smiling when she dropped the phone onto her nightstand.

She pulled on a short blue satin robe on her way out of the bedroom. Paul was on the couch, guitar in hand, a cigarette poised between his lips. Not wanting to interrupt, she sank down onto the steps and rested her head against a wooden spindle, listening to her own private Paul show.

He was playing a melancholy melody in a minor key. It sounded vaguely like the chords he'd used in "The Things We Said Today." She listened carefully, letting her eyelids drift closed, trying to work out whether or not she'd ever heard this tune before.

The music stopped and Lainey opened her eyes to find Paul watching her from the couch below. "I need a piano," he said.

"I'm sorry, did I sleep through the part where you said 'sorry for waking you up babe, how about I make you breakfast in bed now?"

"Do you think I could get my hands on the Wurly today?"

"Do you ever sleep?"

Lainey went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Fifteen minutes later she toweled herself off, opened the door of the steamy bathroom and was greeted by the smell of...bacon?

She threw on a pair of grey sweats and a short pink cotton top and hurried down the stairs.

Paul was whistling a cheerful tune, flipping pancakes in one skillet while bacon sizzled in another. Lainey stared at the domestic scene for a moment. She scratched her neck. "I have so many questions right now."

"Morning love. You look fetching.” He held the cigarette out to his side and pressed a kiss to her damp hair.

"Do you ever sleep? You can cook? How the hell did we get bacon?"

The saucer he used to stub out his cigarette was already crowded with cigarette butts. "Yeah, you know you hardly have any food here. Good thing the back door to the house was open."

Lainey slumped into one of the chairs at her tiny dinette set. "Hold on. You just went grocery shopping in my dad's kitchen?"

Paul poured a mug of something hot and steaming from a kettle and set it in front of her. "Here you are, love."

"Is that tea? Please say it's tea." She took a sip and groaned with appreciation. Then her eyes narrowed. "Is that Jade's tea kettle?"

"How do you not have a kettle, Lainey. Are we savages?" Paul stacked two fluffy pancakes onto a breakfast plate. He added two strips of bacon and presented the plate with a flourish.

"Paul McCartney is cooking bacon in my kitchen in 2012. Is this real life?"

He fixed his own plate, turned off the stove, and grabbed two forks and a bowl of freshly washed strawberries on the way to the table. “Bon appetit.”

"Strawberries? You're really good at this."

Lainey retrieved a stick of butter from the refrigerator and a half empty bottle of maple syrup from the cabinet. "When you were wandering around the big house barefoot and shirtless and in my brother's jeans at eight in the morning, did anyone happen to see you?"

"Nope. Only Jackson."

"Well that's good. Because odds are my dad still thinks I'm a virgin."

Paul winked. "I'll never tell."

"This is delicious."

"Eat up. I need to get my hands on a piano."

When they'd finished, Paul stacked the plates. “Shall I rid the dishes?”

"I'll get those. You cooked. I'll clean up."

He stood and stretched. "I think I’ll have one of your fancy showers, then get a little more work done on this song."

He was leaving the room when Lainey thought of something. "Paul, can you bring my iPad with you when you come back down? We need to look for underwear on Amazon."

He poked his head around the corner. "I'm gonna need you to translate every word you just said."

 

Twenty minutes later they were side by side on the couch, Lainey's iPad in front of them.

"I think I'll look good out of those red undies, don't you love?"

She giggled. "So I'm putting one package of Hanes briefs in the shopping cart, like this. This is how you go online shopping. Anything else you need?"

His arm was stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers playing through her hair. "I think I have everything I need right here. The pants are optional, really. Except a piano. I do need a piano."

"Okay broken record." Lainey completed the purchase. "There you go. Now we just wait for them to be delivered. Probably tomorrow."

“That’s quite handy. Are we living in outer space yet? Mankind, that is."

“Well, sort of. Only trained astronauts though. In the International Space Station.”

“Back in my day we thought we’d all be living in space by now. And what about the Communists? Who won the Cold War?”

“We’re not too worried about Communists any more. We’re more worried about global warming and climate control and human rights and terrorism."

"All the more reason to move to space," Paul pointed out.

Lainey opened another browser window. "This is Google. You can type in anything you want to know and have the answer in a split second.”

“Who’s answering it?”

“Google is a search engine. It points you to the web pages that have your answer.”

“How do you know the web pages are right?”

That question gave her pause. “You have to trust the technology, I guess.”

"When I was a lad if I wanted to know something. I just went down to the pub and mulled it over with me mates. After a couple pints I had all the answers I needed."

"Haha I bet you went to the pub to meet ladies too. Now you just download an app."

"That doesn't sound like much fun, Lainey."

“Yeah, well. Maybe that's why I'm dating someone from 1963." She smiled at him. "What do you want to ask Google?"

He thought a moment. “Who is the current American President?”

Lainey typed in the question and showed Paul the top result from whitehouse. gov which featured a photo of a smiling Barack Obama posing in front of the American flag.

“Is this a joke? This is a colored fella.”

“Don’t say colored. It’s very outdated.”

“What should I say then, to refer to this bloke who couldn’t possibly be the American president?”

Lainey pointed to the fifth paragraph of the article. “African-American.”

Paul scanned the article. “What a relief to see you lot have solved all your civil rights issues.”

“Would that it were so,” Lainey said. “Any other questions for Google?”

“Who's the best bloody rock 'n' roll band in the world?”

Lainey typed the question in, word for word, and studied the results. She smiled and chose the first link, handing Paul the iPad and watching as he read every word of an article from today.com.

 

_1\. The Beatles_

_The Beatles are unquestionably the best and most important band in rock history, as well as the most compelling story. Almost miraculously, they embodied the apex of the form artistically, commercially, culturally and spiritually at just the right time, the tumultuous '60s, when music had the power to literally change the world (or at least to give the impression that it could, which may be the same thing). The Beatles are the archetype: there is no term in the language analogous to “Beatlemania.”_

_Three lads from Liverpool — John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison — came together at a time of great cultural fluidity in 1960 (with bit players Stu Sutcliffe and Pete Best), absorbed and recapitulated American rock ‘n’ roll and British pop history unto that point, hardened into a razor sharp unit playing five amphetamine-fueled sets a night in the tough port town of Hamburg, Germany, returned to Liverpool, found their ideal manager in Brian Epstein and ideal producer in George Martin, added the final piece of the puzzle when Ringo Starr replaced Best on drums, and released their first single in the U.K., “Love Me Do/P.S. I Love You,” all by October of 1962._

_Their second single, “Please Please Me,” followed by British chart-toppers “From Me to You,” “She Loves You,” “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” “Can’t Buy Me Love” (all Lennon/McCartney originals), and the group’s pleasing image, wit and charm, solidified the Fab Four’s delirious grip on their homeland in 1963._

_But it was when the group arrived in the U.S. in February 1964 that the full extent of Beatlemania became manifest. Their pandemonium-inducing five-song performance on the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9 is one of the cornerstone mass media events of the 20th century. I was five at the time — my parents tell me I watched it with them, but I honestly don’t remember. I do remember, though, that the girls next door, four and six years older than I, flipped over that appearance and dragged me into their giddy madness soon thereafter. I loved “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” the Beatles’ first No. 1 in the U.S. (they had 19 more, still the record), more than any other song I have ever heard, or almost assuredly will ever hear, with a consuming intensity that I can only now touch as a memory._

_The Beatles generated an intensity of joy that slapped tens of millions of people in the face with the awareness that happiness and exuberance were not only possible, but in their presence, inevitable. They generated an energy that was amplified a million times over and returned to them in a deafening tidal wave of grateful hysteria._

 

As Paul scrolled through the article, Lainey scanned ahead to see if the demise of the band was included. She didn’t want Paul to have even an inkling of what would happen to him and his best mates. She took the iPad out of his hands before he reached the end. “So that’s how you Google.”

His mouth was slightly open. “Cor, Lainey. It really happened then. We really did it.”

He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, staring into space with his million miles away gaze.

Lainey nudged him with her shoulder, leaning into him. “You okay?”

He gave a little shake of his head. “I feel like I'm living inside a dream sometimes. I don't even know what's real.”

“I bet.”

He sucked in a breath and focused on her face. "I need a piano."

 

When Lainey got home from school that afternoon, Paul was still in the music room at the piano. There was a tray of tea and the remains of a snack on a little table beside him. Jade must have made him feel right at home.

He gave Lainey a happy little smile when he saw her but went right back to the song he was working on. Lainey wasn’t sure if she was disturbing him, so she grabbed a Jeff Buckley CD from her father’s collection, waved at Paul and pointed at the carriage house.

They'd been up most of the night doing the sorts of things new lovers do, and Lainey was exhausted from her early morning classes. She had time for a nap before dinner and work. She wriggled out of her jeans and top and pulled on an oversized, faded Clash T-shirt, lay across the bed, turned on the music and closed her eyes.

Naturally her thoughts centered on Paul. How long would she have him, she wondered, and what it would be like without him after she gathered so many memories of him here in her world as a boyfriend and a lover? In only a few days she’d gotten used to him filling up the spaces in her little house, in her heart. But he might dash back to 1963 like a scared rabbit if he knew how hard she was falling for him.

She opened her eyes and was startled to see Paul standing in her bedroom doorway, his eyes full of curiosity. He glanced up and down her body, his lips curving up in a little smile. She tugged one of the ear buds out and smiled back, trying to keep her tone light and playful.

“Watcha doin Paulie?"

His eyes trailed over her again before he answered. ”Appreciating you."

She patted the space beside her. "Want to appreciate me up close?"

“Don't mind if I do.”

He stretched out beside her, his head on her pillow, and Lainey handed him one of the ear buds. He closed his eyes, listening to the music and looking beautiful. His hand rested on Lainey’s hip, his fingers gently drumming the beat. They listened like that, eyes closed, so still that Lainey thought Paul might have fallen asleep. Then “Hallelujah” ended and he opened his eyes. “Play it again.”

Lainey started the song over and Paul closed his eyes, but his lips were moving along with some of the lyrics.

_Remember when I moved in you_   
_and the holy dove was moving too_   
_and every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

The song ended and Paul looked at her. “Fucking hell. It’s like the music I’ve always wanted to hear. I had a physical reaction to that song…did you hear that vocal control?”

“Mm. It’s always been one of my favorites too.”

“And the lyrics. Bloody hell.”

A phone rang and Lainey crawled over Paul, digging her iPhone out of her handbag.

“Where’s the Goodbye Hello song?” Paul wanted to know.

“I changed my ringtone when I got back. Too many memories.” She frowned at the screen. “It’s my Grandma Marie,” she whispered. "Hi Grandma!" she said into the phone.

Grandma Marie wanted to know why Lainey hadn’t dropped by over the weekend, and Lainey spent most of the phone call assuring her that everything was fine and she’d been unusually busy and would see her in a few days.

When the conversation ended, Lainey dropped the phone on her nightstand and rolled over to rest her head on Paul’s shoulder. She let her hand drift to his stomach. She could nap some other time, like when there was no beautiful man with the voice of an oversexed angel lying in her bed.

He laid his hand atop hers, fingers rubbing across her knuckles.

“She will recognize me. There is no doubt in my mind.”

“Who will recognize you?”

“Marie. Your grandmother Marie.”

"You think so?"

“You know, Lainey, there will be some people who will have to know. John already knows, thanks to you. Marie is a clever girl. We will have to tell her too.”

He was staring up at the ceiling, looking entirely too serious. Lainey wanted him serious, all right, but not about her grandmother.

“How about we burn that bridge when we get to it?” she said, as she straddled him and lowered her mouth to his.

 

The moments, hours and days flew by.

They rode bikes along the river, hiked in the woods behind Lainey's house, took a day trip to the beach one morning and on another afternoon after classes they drove toward the mountains to see the leaves changing color. Saturday night they had dinner at Kate's house and drank Mojitos on her patio. Paul and Lainey came home and put a stack of 45s on the stereo and danced wildly around the house. Dancing was followed by slightly drunken sex. Then Paul grabbed the guitar and sang love songs until late in the night, his voice bluesy and shimmering. That night, Lainey felt like they were the only two people in the world.

They woke up Sunday morning with stiff necks and aching muscles, curled around each other on the carpet in the living room.

Lainey had been on Cloud Nine last night, but after one week in her world, Paul seemed to be getting antsy. He was restless, less talkative. He stared into space more. He thumbed through his notebook, but didn't ask for a piano. He combed his hair down, in the Beatles style. He looked like who he was. A very young, very beautiful Paul McCartney, a visitor from 1963. In his head, she suspected he was already home. He was merely waiting for the chance to give Lainey the news.

After her shower, Lainey found him standing in her kitchen nursing a glass of orange juice, his back against the counter, staring into her backyard, all broody.

He looked at her and opened his arms without smiling.

She tucked her face against the warm skin of his neck and smoothed her palm across his faded black T-shirt.

“Are you concerned about your money running out? Because you can stay as long as you want. There are plenty more Bob Marley T-shirts where this one came from."

“Next time I’ll bring heaps of dosh. Five hundred quid like.”

His warm hand on the back of her neck made her practically sigh with pleasure. Paul’s hugs made her all warm and fuzzy inside. She could almost sense the tension and stress flowing out of her body. An automatic rush of oxytocin. But did her hugs do the same for him? That was the question. “Are you homesick at all?” she asked him.

“Not really.” He sighed, his breath warming her ear. “But I'm a bit bothered with how much time has gone by. What if real time is passing while I'm here? I should be getting back to work. I could miss a show. We have to get back in the studio."

Lainey put a finger to his lips. "You don't need any excuses. I know how driven you are. I knew you wouldn't last long without your mates. Without working. I'm surprised you made it this long."

He kissed her fingertips, then curled his hand around hers. Their eyes met and held. ”Come back with me."

"And do what?"

"Do what Maureen and Cyn do. I'll rent a flat in London and give you everything you need. In 1960s currency I can afford to keep you in luxury."

"You want me to hang out in a flat in London and wait for you to come home."

"Is that so terrible?” His voice had an edge of impatience.

"I guess not. But 1963 called, they want you home before you set the women's movement back fifty years."

He didn't smile. "What do you want to happen, Lainey? With us."

She bit her lip, wondering how much about his future she should tell him. "I love every minute we're together. Here or there, it’s all good, right now. But I have Google, you see, and hindsight, and I know what happens to all the early Beatles wives and girlfriends. None of those relationships survive Beatlemania. So you're asking me to give up my whole world for you, when I know for certain you'll only break my heart."

He pursed his lips in thought, his head tilted to one side. "None of us have a successful relationship?"

"Eventually...you all seem to fall in love and stay in love...after the constant touring is over."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know, three years from now maybe."

"Shit. We go on like this for three more years? Without the bubble bursting?"

She nodded gravely. "You could go on as long as you wanted though. The world never got tired of the Beatles. It was the other way around."

He seemed to understand exactly what she was saying. He held her chin in his hand, his fingers rough against her skin, and stared deeply into her eyes.

"Then you and I...we'll make it work. We'll see each other when we can, and when the Beatles stop touring as much, you'll follow me home to stay. Deal?"

Lainey wanted more than anything to believe they could have a happy ending. Paul looked and sounded so sincere, a sense of calm swept through her. "If you still believe I'm the girl for you three years from now, I would be crazy not to follow you home. Deal.”

 

The record store closed early on Sundays, which made it the perfect day for Paul and Lainey to plan an evening visit. No one would be around to see Paul disappear into thin air.

Lainey had the door to the store unlocked, but Paul seemed to be dawdling.

“How old is this building?”

"A hundred years at least."

"These same bricks are here in 1963?"

"I would imagine so."

"Do you have a pocket knife in the store? I have an idea."

A few minutes later Paul crouched behind a juniper shrub, hard at work.

Lainey sat down on the stoop and waited.

"Lainey. Come ‘ead. Third brick up on the corner here, the color is a little lighter than the others, you see this?" With the edge of the knife he worked at the brick until he had wriggled it out enough to slip something into the space behind it. “Can you find this brick after I’m gone?”

She nodded. “I suppose.”

"I’m going to take this knife back with me and loosen the brick and leave a message for you behind it. It's a test. If it’s safe, we might have to leave the ring in here for each other some day.”

Lainey blew out an audible breath. “Okay. I’ll check as soon as you’re gone.” After I finish bawling my eyes out, she said to herself.

 

Inside the store, they sat on the floor with their backs against the coffee counter, shoulders touching, staring into the darkness together. The floors were old, worn wood but they were lovingly cared for. Lainey and Matt had spent many summer nights with their father cleaning and oiling the wood. The scent of lemon oil and espresso and the musty smell of old vinyl album covers mingled in the small space.

Paul was wearing the clothes he’d arrived in last week when he appeared out of thin air with her backpack. He had his song notebook clutched in one hand.

"Is there anything you’ll miss about 2012?" Lainey asked. She wasn't fishing for declarations of love from him, not necessarily. She truly wanted to know what it had been like for him, jumping forward in time fifty years.

"The standard of living I suppose. It’s so much higher than ours. Central heating and air conditioning and big televisions in every house. The way cars steer now. You barely have to touch the wheel to make it turn. The massive entertainment options you have at your fingertips. And 80s music.”

Lainey couldn’t help smiling. “Wait until you see the hair.”

He nudged her with his shoulder, his lips curving into a smile. “You know what I'll miss most about 2012?"

"Enlighten me."

“Your tits are what I will miss the most.”

“You’re such a poet.”

He reached across her lap and laced their fingers together. “I could write a ruddy sonnet about the way your tits look when you’re bouncing up and down on top of me. How’s that for poetry?”

Lainey let her cheek rest against his shoulder. "I'm going to miss the way you filled my little house with music."

"Yeah? Anything else?"

"The way you laugh. The way your shoulders rise just a little like you're a giggler."

He rewarded her with a chuckle. "We do a fair bit of laughing when we're together." He blew out a sigh. "All joking aside, I really needed this week with you. You're like a calm harbor in the storm ravaged sea of my life."

She laughed. "Now that's poetry."

"It's truth."

She blew out a sigh. "Tell George hey for me. And keep him away from my grandmother."

Paul shrugged. "I left him sitting in the store with a telephone book in his lap. It's not up to us."

"Ugh. I can't even contemplate that right now. Say hi to John. Take good care of each other."

“All right then, enough of all these goodbyes. I'll see you very soon." He squeezed her hand. "Let me see that pretty American smile once more before I go."

Lainey bit her lip. Smiling was the last thing she felt like doing right now. “One more thing. About your mom. Paul, please be careful. I know how much you want to change things for the better, but I really don’t think you should mess with the past."

“I’ll be careful.” He took the ring out of his pocket and placed it on his pinky finger. “The next time I’m here I'll bring you back with me, so that you can keep the ring."

"How do you think you're going to bring me back with you? How is that possible?"

He shushed her. "There's a reason that old woman gave you the ring, Lainey, with George's picture in it. There's a reason we met."

He stood and pulled her to her feet, then bent his knees, looking into her eyes. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. ”Do you believe in magic, Lainey?”

"I believe we are caught up in something magical. Yes.”

He looked at her mouth for several heartbeats before moving that last inch to kiss her. A slide of his lips over hers, asking: Trust me. Don’t give up on us. He kissed her several times, full lips, before opening his mouth to suck on her bottom lip. She almost groaned with wanting him. Her skin was thrumming, her heart pounding.

She broke the kiss, afraid that if they kept on this way she might lose the battle she was waging with her tear ducts. "I guess we should get on with it,” she said, her voice catching at the end. She swayed against him, her arms locked behind his neck, not really ready to let him go. He murmured soothing sounds in her ear, as if he knew exactly how much his leaving would hurt her.

When she finally pulled away, she was met with the undivided attention of his dark brown gaze.“To be continued, Lainey. We’re like a serial story. We’re not over. We’re 'to be continued'.”

“I’ll be here.” It was true. Like the song said, “Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to I will.” What else could she say?

“We want to be together," Paul said. "That’s all that matters. We’ll sort the rest out.”

“I don’t want to watch you go.”

His huge dark eyes were full of sadness. He nodded and then leaned down and pressed his lips again to hers. When she closed her eyes, she felt a tear hit her cheek, and then he was gone.

The drafty old record store was eerie in the dark now that Paul was no longer standing beside her, warming her with his body heat. She shivered. Time to get out of here.

In the back office she grabbed a pair of old shears from the desk drawer.

Out in the alleyway, Lainey looked around before darting behind the juniper bush and finding the brick that was slightly different from the others. She used the shears to wedge the brick forward, wiggled her fingers into the crevice and felt something odd...something that shouldn't be there.

She immediately recognized it as a page from Paul’s songwriting book, folded into a tiny origami heart.

The paper was browned and weathered and the ink was barely legible, but legible enough that It made her gasp as she read the words.

 

_Lainey love,_

_“To be continued…”_

_All my lovin,_

_JP_

 

She tucked the note safely into her purse and wiped an arm across her eyes, bleary with tears. She was probably in no shape to drive, but she couldn’t stay here another minute, breathing the same air that Paul had breathed only moments ago. She certainly couldn’t stay here knowing that he was sharing this same space with her, fifty years too soon.

The car radio was tuned to the oldies station Paul liked to listen to, with Roy Orbison belting out the end of one of his 1960s hits:

“Yes, now you’re gone, and from this moment on, I’ll be crying, crying…”

“Oh hell to the no,” Lainey said, switching to a new station.

“It’s a quarter after one, I’m all alone and I need you now…”

Lainey turned off the radio with a loud sigh. Why was it that when you were in love, every song on the radio celebrated your good fortune, but when your heart was breaking, every lyric was specifically designed to rub salt in the wound?

Her thoughts went back to that morning, in her kitchen, when Paul asked her to come home with him in three years, and she had laughed and said yes. It was an easy commitment to make, since she knew there was no way Paul would still be thinking about her three years from now. He hadn’t even mentioned when they would see each other again. Lainey had no idea how long he expected her to wait. How had she gotten herself into this crazy situation? Her throat ached with the effort of holding back tears, but she steeled herself.

All she had to do was hold it together for the ride to her grandmother’s house. Grandma Marie would have chicken soup and possibly pumpkin bread. And warm hugs, and all the right words to make everything better. Not the first time, Lainey wished she could confide in her grandmother. If anyone would know what she should do, it would be Marie Spencer.


	28. You say Goodbye and I Say Hello

February 1964

Lainey had been dead right, Paul now realized. Or her little goggley machine thingy had been right. Only six months after Paul met her, the Beatles landed in America. Walter Cronkite, that fella on CBS news, had called their arrival “the British invasion, which goes by the code name Beatlemania.”

Beatlemania was an actual word, coined by the British press to describe the extreme, frenzied behavior of their fans. In the last six months the Beatles had become the darlings of Britain, breaking a slew of attendance records and NME Chart records and playing for the Queen Mother. Lennon and McCartney were described by a music critic in the Sunday Times as the greatest composers since Beethoven. And now the Beatles had a number one record. In America.

Their lives had become a blur of rooms and airports and planes and cars and stages and rooms. They woke up, fielded questions from shouting reporters, posed for pushing photographers, yelled their songs and banged out their music to be heard above frenzied crowds, and more or less followed orders from police officers who were charged with protecting them from the pandemonium that followed them wherever they went.

Not only their music, but their voices and their faces were recognized all over Europe, North America, even Australia. His dreams had come true. Paul had everything he'd ever wanted.

There was only one thing missing really. A dark-haired slip of a girl with long legs and a crooked smile who made his heart pound and his trousers grow tight just by turning her big brown eyes his way.

Lainey. His girl.

There was no way Paul could leave America without seeing her. But it wasn't going to be easy. Nothing ever was, nowadays. He couldn’t venture out alone, not even in the States. He needed a disguise, and an accomplice—a trusted ally who was wily enough to wrangle him out of the hotel under the watchful eyes of throngs of adoring fans who wanted to rip him apart. He needed Neil Aspinall.

After their smashing success on American telly, Paul cornered his long time friend in the hotel suite, offering him a bottle of Scotch he’d been given by Murray the K.

"Hey mate. I need a hand when we get to Washington tomorrow. I need to get to Richmond to see Lainey. Can't be more than a coupla hours away."

“Are you soft?" Neil shouted. "Fuck no I'm not taking you out in the midst of a blizzard to get your end off. Brian would have my arse. And yours."

No amount of threatening or cajoling would change Neil's mind. Finally Paul snatched the bottle of Scotch out of Neil's hand. "Fine, you uncooperative tosser. Whyn’t ya find us some ciggies then? We're out."

On the train the next morning, Paul was still steaming over the row with Neil. He was all smiles when the movie cameras were rolling and the journalists were poised with their notebooks open, but after an hour of this he retreated to the back of a private train car with his camera around his neck, pretending to shoot pictures of the miles and miles of snowy landscape as he plotted his next move.

John collapsed onto the bench beside him and propped his boot clad feet on either side of the window in front of him. “What’s a matta wack?”

“Nuthin.”

“Yeah? Neil says you've gone arse over tits for Miss Tits from the 21st Century."

Paul looked at John, his expression flat. "You can't call her that, John."

"Course I can't, not to her face. I call Cyn 'Tongue' you know but not to her face."

In spite of his dour mood, Paul laughed at that. "You do not." He brought the camera to his face and focused the lens on a snow covered field dotted with cows.

“What are you so cut up about? Yer single. Birds are bloody everywhere. You lift an eyebrow and knickers hit the floor.”

Paul lowered the camera and eyed his best friend and bandmate. John was right, birds were everywhere, especially now. The Beatles weren’t exactly living in a monastery. But they were usually so exhausted every night that all they wanted was to get laid and go to sleep. It had been five long months since Paul had wanted anything more than that from a girl. How could he explain the way Lainey made him feel? Every time the funfair ride slowed for a moment, typically when he was alone in a hotel bed, it was her face he saw when he closed his eyes. He wanted to ring her up, tell her how his life was changing. But of course he couldn't do that. He'd been thinking of this girl as his girlfriend for six months now, and he'd never even heard the sound of her voice on the telephone.

He needed to see her. He needed more than a physical release…hell, he could get that anywhere. He needed to know she was still his girl, that she’d be waiting for him when this crazy ride ended. Mostly, he needed to get his head straight so he could write again.

For the last LP he had written exactly three songs. Oh, he’d written many more ditties in the last five months, but they were mainly about Lainey, about missing someone, describing the impossibility of their situation, and these were not the sort of songs he fancied playing in front of anyone, not even his songwriting partner and best mate.

His life was a blur and he needed a week off to just sink into Lainey’s softness, her calm sweetness. He just wanted to hold her, for Chrissake. But there was no way in hell he could say any of this to John without sounding like a lovesick fool who wanted his head examined.

He eyed the pack of American cigarettes sticking out of John’s shirt pocket. “Giz a ciggie, mate.”

John shook out a cigarette and handed Paul a lighter. “You daft git. If I didn't have Cyn with me, I'd be shagging my way up and down the Eastern Seaboard."

Paul dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled a breath of smoke. "It's been yonks since we've had a break, yeah? This girl lives on a nice quiet plantation, like, where I can breathe for once. 'Sides, I want her thoughts on a couple of the songs I've been working on."

John arched a brow. "Letting some bird in to your little private songwriting headspace? That sounds like it would be more intimate than sex to you, Macca."

Paul waved it off. "I just need to take a breath without a reporter in my face." A middle-aged couple entered their car and Paul lowered his voice. "You know that actress I met the other night? The English bird..Jill? It's already in the papers back home that we're dating."

"Yeah? You're famous, Paul. Everybody wants to know who you're shagging. Remember what my Aunt Mimi used to say? Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Looks like we got it."

John got to his feet and laid a hand on Paul's shoulder. "Try Malcolm.”

 

It turned out Mal could be persuaded by a bottle of the finest single malt Scotch whiskey and promises of more. Mal wasn’t as adept at planning things as Neil, but he did manage to come up with a passable disguise and smuggle Paul through the kitchen and out of the hotel and into a waiting car. They only got lost twice while motoring through eight inches of snow from D.C. to Richmond.

And Mal was a good sport about it. He didn’t care where or why, he just did what the lads asked, within reason. The miles flew by with the two of them reminiscing about how far the Beatles had come from the Cavern days to their first momentous concert in America last night. The size of the crowd, the strange surroundings, the noise, the flashbulbs, and the fact that it was being filmed for closed circuit television…it was overwhelming. Ringo had played like a madman, laying out a beat so fast the rest of them had trouble keeping up with him. “I could’ve played for them all night!” Ringo enthused, and everyone agreed.

Then they had finished the night at a charity ball at the British Embassy where they were pawed at and treated like property, and eventually left in disgust after someone snipped off a lock of Ringo’s hair. All through the evening Paul’s mind kept returning to thoughts of seeing Lainey again. There was so much to tell her. He needed this break with Lainey like he needed oxygen.

In the snow-covered alley behind the record store, with his disguise in place, Paul stepped into the shadows out of Mal’s view and slipped the signet ring onto his pinky finger. He opened the locket, smiled at Lainey’s pretty face, closed it again and spun the top of the ring.

*******************************

The first thing he notices is the snow is gone. The sun is bright. It’s almost too warm for the black overcoat he’s wearing. He checks to make sure his hat and heavy glasses are still in place before walking around to the front of the store. The street is bustling with traffic and pedestrians. No one pays particular attention to him though. He takes off his hat to better blend in with the 2013 crowd and scrubs a hand through his hair, takes a deep breath and pulls open the door of Revolution Records.

His chest feels hot as he makes his way to the back of the store. His pulse is too fast, like the anticipation before a concert. And then he sees her. His Lainey.

Her beautiful dark wavy hair seems shorter somehow. He wonders if it’s recently been cut. He’ll have to tell her not to cut her hair any more. Her maroon fuzzy sweater looks like the softest thing he’s ever seen. He can’t wait to pull her into his arms. He smiles to himself at how shocked she’s going to be. She’s looking down at her phone, that mouth he loves tilted up at the corners as she reads something on the tiny screen in her hands.

His heart is tripping like he’s about to take the stage. He stops in front of the counter and in his best American accent says “Howdy Stranger.”

She looks up, wearing a friendly but professional smile. "Hello. What can I get you?"

"How about a welcome back kiss?" He gives her his sexiest smile.

Her smile straightens. She blinks and takes a step back. “Pardon?”

His own smile feels frozen. “Lainey love? I know it's a good disguise, but--" The look on her face stops him. Bloody hell, it’s only been five months. He takes off the glasses, stows them in the pocket of his coat. He spreads out his arms, as if inviting a hug. "It's me!"

She searches his face as if his name might be tattooed there. The energy between them is palpable…but she is looking at him like she’s never seen him before.

He hears her audible intake of breath somehow over the pounding of his own heart. “Did you just call me Lainey love?”

He swallows and drops his arms to his sides. What the bloody hell? His mind searches for an explanation. Is it possible he’s come back to February 2012, six months before they’ve even met? He supposes it's possible, since the photograph of her inside the ring was taken in July, 2012. He has no pictures of her more recent than that.

He stumbles out a response, trying to keep his accent sounding American. “Yeah…no…the uh…the bloke…the fella next door…what’s his name again?”

Her pretty brow furrows. “Brandon?”

“Yeah, that’s the one…he gave me your name, said I should ask you for help…?

She seems to relax a little. “Okay…um…what do you need?”

His thoughts scrambled, he gives it one last shot. Leaning over the counter, he stares deeply into her eyes. “Got any Beatles?”

Her eyes narrow. She shakes her head as if to clear it, then points to her left. “Yeah. Right there underneath the Beatles poster. Behind the big white placard that says Beatles."

He merely nods as the girl he wants to impress more than anyone else in the world looks at him like he’s a wanker. Just another stranger hitting on her.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

Then the girl of his dreams blinks away from him and glances back down at her phone. She smiles at something on the screen. As if whatever she sees on that bloody device is more interesting than the flesh and blood man standing in front of her who has come miles and years to see her.

 _Really Lainey?_ he wants to yell. _How can you not bloody know who I am?_

Bloody hell. He’s standing underneath the Beatles poster, in front of a row of Beatles LPs, and he doesn’t even care to look at them. He wants to run back to her, leap the counter, kiss that perfect mouth, tell her how much he thinks about her, how much he values her as a unique and amazing individual, as unique and amazing as all the things he wants to do to her tonight in her tiny little bed, but isn’t going to get to, because SHE DOESN’T BLOODY KNOW HIM.

He looks over his shoulder, catches her watching him. She glances quickly back down at her phone.

 _Think, you dozey git, think!_ Is there something he could do to jog her memory, to make her remember their time together? _Not if it hasn’t bloody happened yet!_ “Shit!” he mutters, and returns to the counter.

She looks up. “Hello again.”

“Hello there.” While searching for the right thing to say, he takes a slow inventory of that lovely body that had pleased him more and more each time they were together. Below the soft maroon sweater she is wearing the tightest kecks he has ever seen. They look like a dancer’s tights and end in short brown boots. Lainey in winter is a sight to behold. It almost hurts to look at her.

He realizes he’s staring. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem to mind…since she’s busy checking him out too.

Her eyes sweep from his face, down his body to his boots and back up again to his face, lingering. "I like your...boots," she says. Her mouth is slightly open.

“Thanks,” he says. “I like your…boots…too.”

Her gaze lingers on his lips. He licks them. She blinks away.

“Hey,” he says, pulling her attention back to his face.

“Hey,” she answers, a question mark in her eyes. "Did you find what you wanted?"

"Actually, yes."

 _I’m looking at it_ , he almost says. _You’re what I want, you daft girl._

They’re having a moment. There is definitely an attraction on her part. He can tell within a few minutes of meeting a bird whether he can pull her or not, and this one is interested, but whether she remembers their history is another story.

He decides to give it one more go, racking his brain for something to talk about that might jog her memory, yet wouldn’t come off sounding completely batshit insane. “One more thing. Beatles or Stones?” he asks.

She looks suitably mystified, but plows on. “They’re both great, but I’m more of a Beatles girl.”

“Really? Some people think the Stones were better live.”

“I don’t know about that, since I’ve never seen them live, obviously. The Beatles were the innovators. They changed everything.”

Paul is having a hard time concentrating on what she’s saying. Watching her lips shape the words is too distracting. He tries hard to focus, to say something mesmerizing, something that will rock her world. “Is right,” is all he can come up with.

“I told your friend Brandon, it’s like John Lennon once said, ‘When the Beatles sneeze, the Stones catch a cold’.”

That gets his attention. “Lennon said that?” Paul chuckles. “He would.”

Her eyes narrow, confusion etching her face. “Have we met?”

His breath catches. “Do you think we’ve met?”

“Why are you answering a question with another question?”

“Why are you?”

Lainey shakes her head a little. “This is insane.”

“You’ve got it in one.”

The phone rings then. It’s Paul’s voice, that Goodbye Hello song that plays whenever she gets a call. It drives him batty because it feels like he should know the song, yet as soon as it ends he can’t recall the lyrics or the tune.

She looks down. “Sorry, I should take this.”

She holds the phone to her ear and turns slightly away from him. “Hi sweetie…what’s up?”

 _Hi sweetie_. His heart sinks. Shit. Of course she has a boyfriend. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, sweet, and they haven’t even met yet. She probably has loads of suitors. He has an unreasonable urge to snatch the phone from her hand and smash it against a wall.

Instead, he turns away to give her privacy. He has no choice but to go back home with his tail between his legs and wait until next autumn to see her again. When she will bloody well remember who he is.

Because it’s agony listening to her murmuring to the wanker on the phone, Paul walks to the front of the store, nods at Lainey’s father, and picks up a music magazine from a stack on the counter. February 2012. Cor. What a cluster. So that’s it, then. He doesn’t dare start something with Lainey here and now, for so many reasons. She has some git for a boyfriend for one thing, and if Paul starts telling her the far out story about the ring six months before they even meet, he runs the risk of changing everything. If she steps off that curb in 1963 one second sooner or later, she could go unnoticed by Neil and the rest of them. Worse, she could get run down by a ruddy bus.

He stands impatiently fingering a rack of T-shirts until she hangs up the phone, a little smile still on her face.

“Thanks for sorting me out. About the Beatles,” he says. “Well done.”

“Oh…right…” She looks up at him, but her thoughts are clearly still on the conversation with the knobhead on the phone. The tosser who gets to be in her bed at night. The thought enrages him so much he has a mind to wait for him to come round so he can make mincemeat out of him. Shit. He’s losing the plot. _Sort yourself out, Paulie._

He silently shakes himself. There is no time to get locked up for assault in 2012. Not to mention the wanker boyfriend is probably packing a firearm, being a Yank and all. Paul really has no choice but to go back to 1964 and let time run its course. Wait patiently, or impatiently, distract himself until some time in the autumn of 2012, when she is all his again. Every luscious inch of her.

He feels his lips tug upwards. He can never look at her without smiling. If only he could think of a way to get to her in February of 2013. So close….and so impossibly far.

Caught up in just looking at her, he forgets to speak like an American. His words come rushing out in a proper Scouse accent. “Well then, love, I should leave you to get on with it, but…I’ll see you in a bit. To be continued, yeah?” And he gives her a slow wink.

He watches the blood drain from her face. She fumbles the phone and it slips out of her hand, bouncing on the counter. “What did you say?”

“Ta, Lainey love.” He takes a step backwards, kisses his hand and waves.

Her mouth drops open slightly.

At the end of the aisle he turns to check. Aye. She’s still looking. With one hand covering that beautiful mouth. No doubt she’s forgotten all about the scone ‘ead on the phone. Paul has to stop himself from pumping a fist in the air. Yesss. That girl is all his. It’s only a matter of time.


	29. I Want You

“Darling, you are far too young to look so sad.” Grandma Marie planted a soft kiss on Lainey’s cheek and held her at arm’s length to study her. “Is your father making you work too much at that silly shop?”

“No, Grandma, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Come in and have a cup of tea. I haven’t seen you in over a week.”

Lainey followed her grandmother into the sunny kitchen that overlooked a backyard meadow filled with multi-colored autumn leaves and sparrows chasing each other around a bird bath.

“How about a drop of whiskey in your tea? We have to nurture ourselves,” Grandma Marie said with a wink. Her silver hair was cut in a stylish bob with long bangs swept to the side. Her body was still trim and she was impeccably dressed in a cream colored silky blouse and matching slacks. Lainey had always felt she had her very own Florence Henderson for a grandmother, with her good looks and inner strength and positive outlook on life.

She gratefully accepted the mug of tea. Outside, her grandmother’s ginger cat stalked a pair of fat squirrels.

“Let’s go into the dining room,” Grandma said. “I’ve just hauled a trunk out of the attic. Wait until you see these dresses I found.”

Lainey loved looking through her grandmother’s collection of memories. It was like a time capsule, full of vintage garments from the 1960s, old fashion magazines, pictures of Lainey’s mother as a baby, and boxes full of old letters.

As they sipped their tea, Lainey sat on the carpet, leafing through magazine after magazine. Being an art student, her eye was immediately drawn to the images of women in miniskirts and pixie hairstyles and bell bottoms. She wished she’d brought her sketch pad. Maybe Grandma Marie would let her leave with an armful of these magazines.

Grandma Marie held up an ancient green taffeta dress, shaking it out and releasing a cloud of dust. “What’s been happening in the romance department?”

 _Loud sigh._ Here it was. Grandma’s favorite topic of conversation. Of all the times for her to ask. Paul had disappeared into thin air barely thirty minutes ago. “Nothing much. Things seem to be quieting down.”

“Hmm. Your mother says you got involved with a boy in England and they had to wire you money to Liverpool for train fare, and you cried and slept for three days. And your father says an English boy has been hanging around the shop and his music room. That doesn’t sound quiet at all. ’Fess up, darling.”

Lainey almost laughed. Her love life certainly was a hot topic in this family. And what a nightmare those last days in England had been. It seemed like ages ago. “Okay, Grandma, I met someone in London, and he happened to be from Liverpool, and we took the train up and I met his dad…and I sort of got stranded.”

“Well that doesn’t sound promising.”

“It was a misunderstanding. I may have overreacted.”

“I see. Is this young man the reason you look as if someone has just stolen your puppy?”

Lainey reached for another magazine. “He was here for a week. We just said goodbye, actually. I drove straight here.”

Grandma Marie arranged herself on the floor next to Lainey, her cup of tea cradled in her wrinkled hands. “Tell me all about this young man.”

Another sigh. “Oh Grandma. He’s so smart, and driven and talented, with a smile that can light up the room, and he makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world when we’re together, but we’re not together enough. It always ends too soon, and I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”

“Mmm hmm. He lives in England?”

At Lainey’s nod, she continued the questions. “Does he have a sense of humor? I remember when I was dating. If he didn’t have a sense of humor, I was going home very early.”

“We laugh all the time,” Lainey said with a smile.

“What does this young man do for a living, darling?”

Lainey’s smile faded. “He’s a musician. I don’t really…I never thought I would date a musician.”

“Well I don’t know why not. You’re a musician too, and an artist. It’s in your blood. Is he good to you?”

Lainey closed the magazine, turning her attention to her grandmother. “He’s really kind-hearted, and so upbeat about the two of us. He makes me laugh. He makes me so happy, until he leaves and I’m crushed. But that’s not his fault really. He’s very driven, and there are all sorts of demands on his time, and he’s so far away…”

At her grandmother’s compassionate look, Lainey blinked away before her eyes misted over.

Grandma Marie patted her knee. “It takes courage to be happy. You don’t get happy by sitting around going on, ‘oh this is a horrible situation, what to do?’ You’ve got to find the courage to change that.”

Lainey nodded, not really sure what in the world she could do to change her situation. Paul had disappeared with her time travel ring. She had zero control over whether she ever saw him again.

Grandma Marie continued. “I’ve been doing some thinking, since Matt moved across the pond. You know I haven’t been back to Liverpool for over fifty years.”

“Do you miss it?” Lainey sniffed and rubbed at her nose.

“Oh, of course. I’d love to see how it’s changed. And that’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking of selling George’s letters.”

“George’s what?”

“I don’t think he’d mind, do you? They’re not exactly intimate love letters. They’re rather newsy, full of what’s happening to the band in the early days. They’d fetch a pretty penny. I’m thinking of selling them and using the money for a trip abroad. With you, dear, over the Christmas holidays. Maybe you could see your young man.”

“Grandma, what are you talking about? What letters?”

“Oh you know, dear, you’ve read them.”

“I honestly don’t remember this. When did George write you letters?”

“Well, you know this story, dear. In the fall of 1963 he somehow found out I was in Virginia.” Grandma looked thoughtful. “I never understood how he found me.”

Lainey felt a shiver run down her spine. What was it Paul had said? _‘I left George sitting in the record store with a telephone book on his lap.’_

“What happened?” she asked, breathlessly awaiting the answer.

“Well, he showed up one afternoon while I was out with the baby—your mother was a toddler. You know he wore those tight clothes and had that scandalous long hair, and that just wasn’t the way men looked in those days. He looked like a beatnik and your great grandfather waved a shotgun around and chased him off. I never saw George, but he wrote me two of the sweetest letters after that.”

“Are you kidding me? Did you answer?”

“I held onto them, trying to decide what to do, and about that time the Beatles just exploded. It just didn’t seem possible that he could have time for me. For us. And a few months after that he met Pattie.” Grandma Marie had a soft smile on her face, but her mind seemed far away.

“Can I read these letters?”

“Of course dear, you’ve seen them before.”

Grandma Marie reached into the trunk and brought out a tin cigar box. She wedged it open and carefully removed two light blue air mail envelopes with faded red and green stamps of Queen Elizabeth, addressed to Miss Marie Spencer.

As Lainey reached for the letters, her heart pounding, a black and white photograph fell into her lap. Lainey gasped. It was a picture of George and Paul standing in front of Groove Records. Paul was wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he’d disappeared into thin air, barely thirty minutes ago. She brought the photograph close to her face. She could swear there was a gold signet ring on the little finger of Paul’s right hand.

“Oh my god.” Lainey dropped the picture as if it had burned her.

“What is it, dear?”

“Nothing. That picture. Oh shit.” She wrapped her arms across her chest, rocking slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say shit. Oh god.”

“Lainey Louise. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I can’t…I can’t believe this happened.”

Grandma Marie looked puzzled. “The letters? It’s nothing to obsess over. It was just one chapter of my life. My life has been full of many wonderful chapters, mostly involving my two wonderful grandchildren.”

“You’re not going to sell this photograph are you?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t sell that.” Grandma Marie picked up the photograph, gazing at it fondly. “That silly Paul. He was such a cut up in those days. George says in the first letter that Paul wanted me to know he forgave me for laughing when his girlfriend Iris poured a bowl of sugar over his head.”

She tucked the photograph back into one of the envelopes. “They were forever clowning around, pretending to be hunchbacks or whatnot, and one night Iris had had enough.” She chuckled at the memory.

Lainey got up suddenly. “I need a bit more whiskey in my tea.”

Lainey’s hands shook as she picked up the kettle. She had to take several deep breaths to calm herself. Breathe in reality, breathe out craziness. She knew those letters, that picture, hadn’t been there before. There was a new photograph of Paul McCartney in her grandmother’s trunk full of old memories. It was too bizarre to contemplate. Then again, Paul was part of her grandmother’s past, where he belonged. The surreal part was that he was also in Lainey’s present, and possibly her future. What an impossible situation.

Her grandmother found her at the kitchen table with her forehead on her arms.

“Honey. Talk to me. I want to know why you had such a strange reaction to that photograph.”

Lainey’s head was spinning when she looked up. “I don’t know. Because…because George is my grandfather. I wish I’d known him.”

“I won’t sell the letters if you don’t want me to. But they’re very sweet, and I don’t think George would mind me using the money to take his beautiful granddaughter to visit his birthplace.”

“It isn’t the letters, Grandma. Sell them if you want to. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“What is it then?”

How could she answer? How could she say that she had fallen in love with the other young man in the photograph, and she’d left him less than an hour ago, only seconds before that fifty year old photograph was taken? How could she say she was afraid that fifty years from now all she would have would be a plastic box of letters and photographs of a man she could never have? It was like her grandmother’s history was repeating itself in Lainey’s life.

“I don’t know. It’s the two of them, especially Paul? He reminds me so much of my…of James.”

Grandma Marie set down her mug of tea and patted Lainey’s shoulder. “You love this James, don’t you, dear.”

“I do.”

“And the problem is that he’s so far away?”

“Oh yes. That is the problem in a nutshell.”

Her grandmother stood. “I’m going to see about selling those letters. I need a holiday in England with my beautiful granddaughter.”

Lainey looked up at her grandmother’s beatific, glowing face. Grandma Marie was thrilled at the thought of this trip, at the idea that she would be doing something to make Lainey happy. How could Lainey tell her that getting to England was the least of her problems. Getting to 1963, while Paul was wearing the ring, was the problem.

“Wouldn’t that be lovely, dear? The two of us in England? We could spend Christmas with your brother.”

“Grandma, spending time with you in England would be absolutely wonderful. A dream come true.”

“Then that settles it. Christmas in London with my grandchildren. That was a wonderful gift George gave me when he wrote those letters…don’t you think?”

And Lainey had to agree.

She drove home in a daze, marveling at this turn of events. She had somehow changed the past. She knew the letters didn’t exist before she went back in time and messed with George’s head, reminding him of the lovely young Marie he’d known as a teenager back in Liverpool.

Her little house still smelled of tobacco and it was far too quiet. Her guitar was lying on the couch where Paul had abandoned it. Lainey cradled it for a moment, turning it around the way Paul played it, lightly fingering the strings and remembering the melodies he’d coaxed from the instrument.

The rooms teemed with memories of Paul. His tea cup was sitting unwashed on the kitchen counter. The mirror in her bathroom had held his reflection only hours ago when he'd stood there shaving. Her pillow carried the scent of his shampoo. She had no idea when or if she would see him again. She could only hope one of them would figure something out by Christmas.

 

September turned into October. The weather grew colder. Lainey kept busy with school and work and occasional dinners with friends and family and long walks with Jackson in the woods behind the house.

One night in early October, Lainey was seated at her sewing machine in the alcove beneath the stairs, unfolding a piece of fabric that she intended to transform into a pleated mini skirt. The pattern was taken from an old McCall’s magazine of her grandmother’s. Lainey was feeling oddly inspired by the 1960s lately. She placed a bobbin full of navy thread beneath the needle and pressed the material flat, singing slightly off key as she worked. _I want you...I want you so bad it's driving me mad it’s driving me mad…”_

There was a light tapping sound from the front of the house. Lainey tilted her head, listening. The wind was picking up, the old carriage house was creaking.

The rapping came again, louder this time. Someone was at the front door, at ten in the evening. She glanced at her phone to check for messages before padding into the front room. It was odd for anyone to drop by so late without texting first. And a little spooky. She smoothed a hand over her hair and eyed her clothes, making sure she was decent. An oversized Beatles T-shirt, black leggings, fluffy neon orange socks. She paused, her hand on the deadbolt. "Who's there?" she called.

"Opportunity," came the immediate reply, in that unmistakable voice and accent that was seared into her brain.

"Oh my god!" Lainey squealed. She threw open the door to see Paul standing on her doorstep, wearing jeans and a navy jacket, a 70s porn star mustache, and an unusually guarded expression. He was holding a green canvas rucksack in one hand.

"Opportunity knocks," he repeated.

“Oh my god!” she said again, launching herself into his arms, practically knocking him into the rhododendrons. "I can't believe you're here!”

They hugged tightly for a few seconds before Paul loosened his grip and pulled away. “So you recognize me this time, do you?"

Lainey was laughing and crying at once. "Of course, silly, how could I ever not recognize you?"

"You'd be surprised.”

She wiped at her eyes and raised a tentative hand to his stubbled jawline. He looked like he'd been traveling all day. "Nice porn 'stache," she said, giggling.

Paul winced a little as he ripped the mustache away from his upper lip and stowed it in his rucksack. "With this on and me glasses I'm just an ordinary bloke."

“Not to me you're not!” She tugged him across the threshold, kicked the door closed and wrapped her arms around his back, pressing herself tightly against him. She couldn't keep from grinning. It was best feeling in the world, the warmth and pressure of his arms around her.

She could sense him breathing her in. His fingers stroked her hair. Her hands slid under his jacket, feeling the muscles of his back. But something was off, different. She knew every inch of this body, and he felt bigger in her arms, more solid. It seemed as if he'd gained ten pounds in two weeks. As if he'd grown into his man's body overnight.

She stopped hugging first, even though every fiber of her being wanted to continue clinging to him like an orphaned koala. They pulled apart, staring at each other, drinking each other in.

“I like your shirt,” Paul said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “The Beatles Are Coming. Live in America for the First Time,” he read. “Is right. We came to America all right, not that you’d remember, since you didn’t recognize me.” His gaze moved to her hair. “You look lovely. Thank fuck your hair has grown back.”

Lainey's smile faded as her hands went automatically to her hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing now.”

She stood there, feeling herself start to frown. With his eyes fixed on her face, Paul shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her.

"Oh. Okay. Can I hang your jacket for you?" she said with a touch of sarcasm.

Paul stepped around her wordlessly and plopped onto her couch.

Lainey draped his jacket over the back of a chair, suddenly feeling like June Cleaver greeting Ward after a day at the office. Maybe she should be wearing heels and a shirtdress and pearls with a roast in the oven and his favorite cocktail in her hand. "Do you want something to..." Her words trailed off and her jaw dropped.

Paul was slouched on her sofa, his boot clad feet on her coffee table, head back and eyes closed, sucking on a cigarette that was definitely not made of tobacco.

"What the f--" she began.

He cracked open one eyelid.

"When did you start smoking marijuana?" she demanded.

He blew out a cloud of sweet smelling smoke, eyes closed. "Have a seat Lainey. It's been one helluva year."

"You know what? I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine. Care to join me?"

Paul lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Fetch me an ashtray, would you?"

Lainey heaved an exasperated sigh and flounced out of the room.

She made more noise than usual in the kitchen. Banging cabinet doors, swearing when the corkscrew slipped out of her hand. Who was this stranger smoking weed on her couch, making snide remarks about her hair and throwing his jacket at her like she was a 1960s airline hostess?

Electric guitar driven music came from the other room. Paul must have found one of the music video stations he liked to watch.

A saucer clattered on the coffee table next to his feet. "There's your ashtray. Please, make yourself right at home." She sat down with her glass of wine, leaving some distance between them, pleased with herself that she hadn't brought Paul anything to drink. Smoothing her hair, she glanced up at him.

"So. You smuggled that weed through U.S. Customs?”

“Across borders and across decades. And it’s still fresh as…” He offered her the joint. “Ever try it?”

“Please.” Lainey scoffed. “Have you met my dad? He’s an original hippie. VW van and all. It’s a good thing my mother named me, or I’d be called Harmony or Rainbow.”

"Are you saying your dad raised you on weed?"

Lainey started to smile. "No...but there was this one summer night when Matt and I were staying over, we were all listening to Jerry Garcia, and Dad and Jade were passing around the peyote pipe. All of a sudden there was a knock at the door and our grandmother was there, whisking us back to our sheltered lives, fixing us cocoa with little marshmallows while we watched “Full House” on Nickelodeon.

Paul grinned. “Rainbow. It rather suits you. Fancy a hit, Rainbow?"

"I'll just sip my wine and breathe your air."

He blew out another cloud of smoke. "What a day. Someone in London must've phoned ahead. There was a crowd at the airport in DC. The pilots called for a car and we were driven across the Tarmac over to Customs so we didn't have to go through the terminal." He scraped a hand through his hair. "Some fella was already saying on the radio that a Beatle had been spotted in the metro area. Good thing I have Neil with me, right?"

"You have Neil?"

"Out in the car."

Lainey looked toward the door.

"Not to worry. He won't know any time has passed at all."

"Wait...How are people talking about you in America in 1963 when you haven't even been here yet?"

A dark eyebrow shot up. "You think it's still 1963, don't you." He slowly shook his head. "It's 1964, love."

The realization swept over her. 1964? A year had passed for Paul? No wonder he looked different...no wonder he seemed strangely distant. It had been a year, and not just any year. He'd been catapulted from relative obscurity to world fame. His life was completely different now. So much pressure. Everyone catering to him. Everyone wanting a piece of him.

"Are you saying it's been a year since you said goodbye to me?"

"Actually it's been one year, two weeks, three days and..." He glanced at his watch. "...three hours and seventeen minutes. Roughly."

"Oh, sweetie…no wonder you’re acting so strange…”

“Oh, I’m sweetie now? That’s progress. Last time I was here, you were calling someone else sweetie.”

Lainey paused a beat. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. And...why did you wait so long to come back though?"

"I couldn't get back, Lainey. Not in your future. I only have pictures of you from 2012. I can't go beyond that."

"Did you try?"

His expression was somber. "Indeed I did."

His boots hit the floor. He stretched an arm across the back of the couch and coiled a lock of her hair around a finger. Eying her speculatively, he asked, "Did you miss me?"

"Yes. Every minute of the last two weeks."

There was another odd thing. If it had been a year since they'd been together, why was Paul sitting on her couch smoking a joint and not tugging her up the stairs to bed? He was obviously tense. She already knew him well enough to know that when he was tense his brows pulled together, his eyes got darker, and he acted like a bit of an ass. She suspected he was self-medicating with marijuana. But Lainey recalled another activity that used to ease his tension. It had worked like a charm. And the last time Paul was here, he couldn't keep his hands or his lips off of her. Tonight he'd been here fifteen minutes and hadn't even kissed her, had barely touched her.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she blurted.

His brow furrowed, as if he didn't entirely understand the question. After a moment's thought, he answered, "No."

"Did you really have to think about it?"

He smirked. "No, smart arse. And if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"No one caught your eye in the past year?"

"A few did." His smirk turned into a playful smile. "But no one caught my heart. Not since you, Rainbow."

She returned the smile. _Why were they not on their way to bed already_? Every inch of her skin buzzed with the need to be touched by him. "I like the sound of that."

"What about you, Rainbow? Anyone catch your eye?"

She laughed. "Not in the last two weeks, no."

He sat up, put out the blunt and reached for Lainey's hand, lacing their fingers together. She had his full attention now, and it was hypnotic.

"I want a promise off ya."

She blinked. "Okay. Let's hear it."

"If someone else catches your eye, I want to be the first to know, I don't want to show up and hear you calling some wanker your sweetheart. Ever again."

She searched her brain for what he could possibly be referring to and came up empty. "Okay...I can't see that happening, but you have my word."

Paul leaned over and brought his forehead to hers. His jaw was covered in stubble. Lainey had a sudden, overwhelming urge to feel it on her inner thighs. "It's been a blurry long year," he said tiredly. "Will you take me upstairs and let me bury my face in your beautiful tits for the next week to ten days?"

His voice, those words, spread through her like a jolt of electricity.

“Sweetie,” she whispered. “I thought you'd never ask."


	30. And From Your Beam You Made My Dream

"I didn't know you'd come back," Lainey said.

Paul brushed the hair back from her face. "Yes you did." 

“I haven’t been sleeping very well,” she admitted.

He laughed softly beside her. “Same.”

Their eyes met and held. Lainey curled her hand around his neck, her fingers rubbing his warm skin. She was so close she could count every one of his eyelashes, the tiny freckles across his nose. With her eyes fixed on his, she leaned in, watching his eyes slowly close as she brushed her lips across his. It wasn’t exactly a kiss. They were teasing, tasting, breathing each other’s air. She could smell his aftershave, a hint of tobacco.

He slowly pulled away. “The thing is, love, once we do it, it becomes a thing, and we won’t want to stop. I won’t want to stop.”

Oh, she thought, faint with love. Oh. 

“I know,” she whispered.

He tilted his head, eyelids drifting closed, and leaned in to kiss her gently, lips parted. His hand skimmed up her side, stalling just beneath her breast. He sat back. “I shouldn’t want this. I went mad all year, thinking of you with some other guy. I’m as gone as I’ve ever been and it’s not from the weed.”

She took his hand and placed it over her breast. “There’s no one else.”

His thumb circled her nipple through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. “You’re mine.”

Her lungs were so tight it hurt to breathe. “Of course.”

“I just want to put my anchor down for a spell, y’know?”

“Welcome home, Sailor,” she said, and pulled his mouth to hers.

And then it was Paul pushing forward, harder, and she had to grip the back of his neck to keep herself from falling backwards. He opened his mouth, sucking on her bottom lip, her tongue. His lips moved to her jaw, to the soft skin of her neck. "You taste good everywhere. Just the way I remember.”

His hoarse voice in her ear had her practically vibrating. Then he leaned in, opened his mouth on her neck, and pushed his teeth sharply into her.

Lainey squeaked with surprise, her thoughts blurring, everything flashing hot. "That hurt," she whispered. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "Do it again."

His chest rumbled against hers with a chuckle. "I want to mark you. I want everyone to know you're mine."

She sat back far enough to grab the hem of her shirt and yank it over her head, letting it fall to the floor behind them. Her fingers began tugging at the buttons of his shirt. He oh so helpfully worked the rest of the buttons free and shrugged it off his shoulders. His gaze fell to her bare breasts. "God, Lainey. I want to put my mouth all over you until you scream for me not to stop."

"Bite me again," she demanded, leaning back against the cushions and pulling him down on top of her.

 

*****************************

They landed in a pile of discarded clothes on the living room floor, with the television weatherman in the background warning about Hurricane Sandy. First, Paul had tried to lead Lainey to her bedroom.

“The floor,” Lainey urged. She wanted it intense, hard and rough.

He started to press her back to the floor but she shook her head. This was her rodeo. He complied, rolled over and stroked his hands up and down her back as she climbed over his legs, stretching her body across his. She slid an arm up and around his neck and lowered her mouth to his, and then it was only wet warmth and the feel of skin sliding on skin.

He wrapped her up in a tight embrace, his face against her neck. “If I met another girl who smelled like you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Ssh. No more talking.” She tried to focus on kissing that beautiful mouth of his but the rest of him was so distracting…his chest hair tickling her breasts, and the hardness pressing between her legs.

“Mmm…condom…” she managed to whisper.

With one hand Paul yanked at the pair of jeans hanging off an arm of the couch and found his wallet. He held up a wrapped condom between two fingers. “You’re in charge then.”

She was suddenly all thumbs with anticipation but somehow managed to tear open the package and slide it on.

She didn’t hesitate after that. Lifting up and down, pushing him into her heat.

“God, yes,” he rasped. “You’re so warm, so soft.”

Lainey closed her eyes as she lifted her hips up, then pressed down against him, filling herself with his body and taking control.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, sliding his hands up her body and palming her breasts.

She opened her eyes. “So are you.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, and they both laughed as she leaned down to kiss him. She rocked her hips against him and the laughter quickly turned to ragged sighs and words of pleasure.

“Slow down,” Lainey said, when it felt like he was getting a little too frisky beneath her. He groaned a protest but matched the speed she set, not hindering whatever she wanted to do with him, letting her set the pace as she rocked against him.

His thumbs circled her nipples, then he trailed one hand down her body, his fingers quickly finding the touch she needed. She gripped his shoulders when the sensations started to build. “Faster!” she demanded.

“I thought you liked it slow.”

“Now I like it fast,” she gasped.

His hands gripped her hips and he took control, bucking up into her. With a sharp cry, Lainey burst into a mind-blowing climax, her body clenching around him.

He couldn’t seem to hold back any longer. Flipping her over so that she was beneath him, he pounded into her body, growling against her neck as he found his own release.

 

“That noise you make,” Lainey said, a few minutes later. Paul was still lying on top of her as they waited for their heartbeats and their breathing to slow down.

“Hmm?”

“I like that noise you make when you lose it.”

“I like the way you make me lose it.”

He rolled onto his back, ridding himself of the condom. "Be right back."

Lainey stretched her arms overhead and stared at the ceiling, unable to keep the goofy, love drenched smile from her lips. Unable to believe Paul had come back to her, after what had been a year for him. Was this going to be a regular thing? Were they a regular thing? She was thinking about how to ask him just that question when he returned wearing her brother's track pants and a couple of plush blankets wrapped around his bare shoulders.

"There's a full moon out tonight," he said, reaching for her hand.

"Oh. By all means, then, we must go outside and howl at it."

She fished around for her leggings and T-shirt before letting him pull her to her feet. Paul examined her hand. "I thought I told you not to paint your nails black."

Lainey laughed. "Surely you weren't serious."

"I'm dead serious. When did girls start wearing black nail polish?"

"Right about the time they stopped letting their boyfriends tell them what color to paint their nails." Lainey took her hand out of his and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She gave him a cheeky smile. "Wait 'til you see me with bright blue hair."

"Don't even think about it," Paul warned.

"Are you a control freak, Paul McCartney?" She wriggled into her leggings.

"Course not. That's just how it is. Every man likes to have a say about how his woman dresses and how she styles her hair..."

Lainey pretended to stifle a yawn as she picked up her wine glass and padded into the kitchen, leaving her sexy little control freak jabbering on about 1960s life.

He wasn't perfect, but who was? The key was, her grandmother liked to say, to find the one whose imperfections you could live with. Besides, Lainey could hardly keep from smiling at the way Paul had just referred to her as "his woman."

She lifted her eyes from the sink to see him standing in the doorway, watching her rinse her glass.

He pointed at her. "I'll compromise on the nail polish. Just promise me you won't do anything to your hair again."

"I promise to carefully consider all your opinions on my hair and get back to you in ten business days with my final decision." She placed the bottle of wine in his hand. "Here you are. I howl better with alcohol."

Paul's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You were howling just fine a few minutes ago."

Lainey chuckled. "That had nothing to do with the moon and everything to do with what you were doing with your hands. And other talented parts.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” Paul said with a wink.

 

In the middle of a soft patch of grass covered with leaves, Paul swayed back and forth, looked up at the moon and sang loudly, "Is the moon out tonight? I don't know if it's cloudy or bright. Cuz I only have YES for you!"

"Forget about it darling, you can't sing," Lainey teased.

"You don't think I have a shot?" Paul asked, pretending to pout.

"Not a chance. Better have a Plan B."

They passed the bottle of wine back and forth a few times before lying down and curling up together in a soft nest of blankets.

"A sky full of moon, a bellyful of wine and an armful of warm girl. This is my Plan A and B."

Lainey snuggled her head onto his shoulder. "I'm happy you're here."

"Me too. Feels good to hold you. Every time I got close to a girl in the past year there was this fraction of a second when my brain screamed ‘not Lainey’ and I'd have to shut it down. ‘Not my fault,' I'd say to my brain." He sighed. "I really did try to get with you."

Lainey brought a finger to his lips. "You know, there is such a thing as too much honesty."

His lips parted and he drew her finger into his mouth, sucking on the tip. When she pulled it free, he made a popping sound that made them both giggle.

"A year, huh? Tell me what your life is like."

He sighed. "The world’s got me dizzy, love. You’d think we'd be used to the spin by now."

"Too much crazy? Not what you expected?"

"Ah, it's all right. Just a bit too much flying about and talking about the length of our hair and not enough playing music. And sometimes we feel a bit trapped."

Lainey didn't miss his use of the word "we." Everything that happened to him, his whole identity was wrapped up in being part of a group. The Beatles We. It hurt her heart a little to think how devastated he would be when the four best mates drifted apart and the Beatles came to a screeching halt.

"How do you mean trapped?"

"Well, for one thing, we can't leave the flat without police protection. Can't ride a bus, can't go to a movie unless we sneak in after the lights are down, sit in the back and leave before it ends. Can't be in any sort of crowd, in case a mob breaks out."

"Have you ever been frightened of a mob?"

"Oh sure. We were in a caravan this summer that nearly got turned on its side by a mob of fans. They're all fine, you know, one on one. But a group of 'em rushing at ya, shrieking like banshees six inches from your ear and pulling at yer clothes and it's bloody frightening."

He leaned over and grabbed the bottle of wine, took a swig and handed it to Lainey. He watched her take a drink.

"It must really mess with your head." Lainey propped the bottle next to a clump of grass.

Paul gathered the blankets over them and they wriggled around a bit, getting comfortable, relearning the contours of each other and how they fit together. "It's not all bad though," he admitted. "I don't hate attention. I'm a bit of a ham, y'know?"

“You don’t say.”

"I always wanted to entertain people. I like being fancied. I still can't believe it sometimes." He held up his right hand, the gold signet ring glinting in the silvery moonlight. "Makes me want to go back in time and tell my fourteen-year-old grieving, chubby self, 'it's okay, la. It all turns out in the end'."

Lainey drew in a sharp breath. _The ring_. "Your Mom. It's nearly the 31st. Are you going back?"

"I've been back, love. That was a year ago."

"What?" Her head jerked up. She needed to look at him, to see that he was at peace with whatever had happened. "Did you see your mom?"

He pushed a wave of dark hair over her shoulder. "I did."

Lainey's hand went to her mouth. "Oh my god, Paul! What happened?"

His arms reached for her, and she let herself be pulled back down to his chest. Maybe he was more comfortable talking about this without her looking at him with a horrified expression. Lainey felt as though she had a personal stake in how this story turned out. She had gone back in time herself after all, and somehow changed his mother Mary's fate. Lainey had returned to 1963 to learn that instead of dying of breast cancer, Mary had been hit by a car while riding off into the night to help deliver a baby. Paul and Lainey had been able to change the circumstances of her death, but they hadn't added a moment to her life. Had Paul been more successful on his trip back to the day of her death? Lainey felt almost breathless with worry as she curled herself around him, her hand over Paul's heart, listening to every word as he described the journey he'd taken almost a year ago, back to October 31, 1956.

It was All Saints Eve, the seventh anniversary of the day Paul had lost his mother. But his life was hardly his own now. He was a Beatle, and the Beatles were ending a week long tour of Sweden. When he woke that morning he checked his luggage, made sure he had the ring and a disguise. After their flight landed in London, his plan was to immediately drive to Liverpool. Plenty of time to get there in time to stop the accident that took his mother's life.

He paused in the story, his fingertips setting a fire up and down her skin as they scraped their way across her bare arm.

"What happened?" Lainey whispered.

"It was raining. The plane was delayed, and there was a huge crowd at the airport for us, the first time ever. We had heaps of interviews. I didn't anticipate any of that. I finally broke away from everyone and drove to Liverpool and nothing went right. There was a road accident, I was hours delayed...It felt like the past didn't want to be changed."

Lainey made a comforting sound. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I reached her just after the accident, before the police came. She was in and out of consciousness."

Lainey drew in a sharp breath, tears filling her eyes. She couldn't believe what Paul was telling her. She pressed her lips to his warm neck. "Oh...baby...I don't even know what to say...."

Paul continued, his voice a strange monotone. "I held her head and I told her that I loved her and that Mike and I would be all right and that Dad would be all right and that she could let go."

His arms tightened around her. "If I couldn't save her, at least I wanted her to know she could rest easy. We all turn out all right in the end."

Tears were streaming from Lainey's eyes, warm drops splashing on Paul's neck. "Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry you went through that..."

He raised up and looked at her. "It's okay, Lainey. I'm grateful to you that I got the chance to see her one more time to tell her we're okay."

Lainey gulped in a breath. "Did she know who you were?"

With his thumb he brushed away her tears from both cheeks. "She probably thought she was hallucinating. But at least at the end she was with someone who loves her."

 _Loves her_. Present tense. Lainey bit back a sob.

"You were terribly brave."

He rolled onto his back. "Not really. I got back in my car and I was roaring me eyes out, then I somehow sorted myself out for the drive down to London. That was almost a year ago."

For a moment Lainey was quiet. Then she nestled in and whispered. "I know she is the proudest guardian angel in all of heaven."

"Yeah? Up there with John's mum?"

"They're probably best mates."

With their faces pressed together, she could feel the smile stretching his cheeks.

They made love again, and this time Lainey let him be on top and she didn't orchestrate the event. She just clung to him and told him with her kisses how very much she loved every little thing about him. This move of her lips meant I love how you make me laugh and this flick of the tongue meant no one has ever made me feel this way. 

They lay there after this sweet interlude, looking up at the moon, their bodies incoherent with bliss. She stretched against him, her head on his chest. One arm stretched over his stomach, her hand on his hip. Her legs tangled with his. Her head rose gently up and down with his breaths, slowing as the tension left his body.

A gust of wind shook a swirl of leaves down over them.

Paul's fingers moved through her hair. He plucked out a crunchy red leaf and flicked it away. He sighed deeply. "This feels like love. Or something close to it," he whispered, just before Lainey smiled against his skin and closed her eyes.


	31. I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

All Lainey wanted to do was to fade back into blissful slumberland, nestled against the warm body next to her. If only that warm body would stop jostling her and rubbing her arm and pestering her with words. That insistent Scouse voice at the edge of her dreams, trying to drag her into wakefulness.

“Lainey! Do you hear that, love? Do you hear that song?”

Lainey mumbled something incoherent and screwed her eyes tightly closed.

"I hear a guitar,” Paul said, sounding far too awake.

“Mm. It’ll stop in a minute.”

“What is that? Is it your phone?”

“Ssh. It’s the middle of the night.” Her head flopped onto the pillow as Paul shifted away from her to grab his watch from the nightstand.

Finally the phone stopped ringing.

“It’s afternoon in England,” Paul said. He sounded wide awake and raring to go. “Let’s go make some tea and toast.”

“Tempting, but no,” Lainey murmured, without opening her eyes. She snuggled her face into his shoulder just as her ringtone started to play again. “You’re so comfy.”

“What’s that song?” Paul asked.

“It’s a bootleg of Jimi Hendrix playing Sgt Pepper,” she said, starting to wonder who was trying to reach her so urgently when the sun was barely up.

“It’s what?”

“Never mind.”

Paul shifted slightly and kissed the top of her head. “It makes me want to write something. Did you keep your guitar the way I left it last year?”

Lainey smiled softly at the memory of Paul restringing her acoustic guitar so he could play it left-handed. She’d passed it dozens of times in the past few weeks, remembering the lovely sounds he’d coaxed out of her guitar, and she couldn’t bring herself to change the strings.

“Everything is just the way you left it two weeks ago.”

He chuckled and kissed her hair again. “Good girl. Answer your phone while I go put the kettle on.”

The phone stopped ringing. Lainey rolled onto her back, finally opening her eyes and looking at him. “How in the hell do you look that sexy first thing in the morning?”

He laughed. “What do you mean?”

She stretched and yawned, then peered at him and waved her hand in a circle in front of his head. “You’ve got that movie star stubble thing going on and your hair is all tousled and saying ‘play with me Lainey, you know you want to.’ It’s ridiculous.”

He leaned down and chuckled next to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “You look pretty sexy yourself,” he murmured, breathing her in. “And you smell like my sleepy warm girlfriend,” he added, and nibbled on her ear lobe.

“You melt me when you do that.” Lainey curled her fingers into his hair and twisted her legs around his with a little moan. A moan that turned into a groan of frustration when her ringtone sounded yet again.

Paul rolled away, untangling himself from her arms and legs. “You’d better get that. Seems important.” He swung his legs onto the floor, found her purse and tossed it on the bed. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Lainey sat up in order to have the best view of him walking out of her bedroom, stark naked, whistling along to her Sgt Pepper ringtone.

It was Lainey’s mother on the phone. Of course it was. Such a cock block.

“Hi Mom. It’s awfully early.”

“Have you been watching the news?” her mother began, without preamble. “The hurricane in the Bahamas is turning into a monster of a storm and it’s coming this way.”

Lainey brought a hand to her forehead and tried not to audibly sigh. Her mother was full of dire predictions. Lainey was to move into the big house immediately before any of the two-hundred-year-old oak trees crashed down onto the carriage house. The power would likely go out just as a cold front rolled in from the north. Gathering bottled water and nonperishable food and firewood was the order of the day.

“I’ve got it Mom. Thanks for the heads up. Love you.”

 

She found Paul barefoot and bare chested, wearing only his jeans and frowning in front of her bare kitchen cupboard. “Do you even eat when I’m away?” he wondered aloud.

Lainey came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and planting a kiss on his shoulder. “It’s no fun cooking for one. We could go to the grocery.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a song to write,” Paul announced. He closed the cupboard door and turned in her arms, gathering her close, resting his chin on top of her head.

Lainey sighed with contentment, relaxing in his arms. She could stand here like this all day, with love chemicals coursing through her body from the full on body contact with this sexy bare chested man in her arms.

“Who was on the phone?” Paul asked, breaking into her reverie.

“My mom. There’s a hurricane coming.”

“Really?” He pulled back and looked at her. “My second one, you know. We just went through Hurricane Dora in Florida this summer. It was windy as hell and dark with heavy black clouds all over. Palm trees fallen over and mess everywhere.”

“Sounds like a hurricane all right.”

“Is that what we’re in for?” Paul shook his head with a frown. “Poor, poor Jackson.”

“Aw, he’ll be okay.” Lainey realized Paul was remembering how her father’s dog quaked with fear at the first sound of thunder. “There probably won’t be any lightning and thunder. We might lose power though.”

Paul swayed side to side with Lainey in his arms while he considered losing electricity. “That’s all right. We’ll go unplugged. I have the physical ability to create sound, with or without power.”

“You certainly do.”

A smile played about his lips. “It will be a disarming and intimate experience for both the artist and the audience. I’m prepared to be bare.”

Lainey giggled. “I am too. It sounds lovely, actually.”

Paul took her by the hands, spun her around in a circle and pulled her hard against him. Dancing her around the room, he began to sing:

 _"The snow is snowing, the wind is blowing_  
_but I can weather the storm!_  
_What do I care how much it may storm?_  
_I’ve got my love to keep me warm…"_

They danced and sang and laughed until the kettle began to boil, then they sat down to tea and toast and jam. “I’ll go grocery shopping today,” Lainey promised. “School is probably cancelled anyway so people can prepare.” She picked up her phone and pressed the home button. “Siri, what’s the weather like today?”

Paul’s eyes grew wide when he heard the immediate response. _**“Okay. Here’s the weather for today.”** _ Lainey tilted the screen his way. “62 degrees and overcast.”

“Blimey! You’ve got a robot in that thing. Let me see that.”

She pressed the button again. “What time is it in England?”

 _ **“The time in London, England is 1:05 pm,”** _ Siri responded.

Paul snatched up the phone, fascinated. “What’s the weather in London?” His smile spread as Siri reported 12.8 degrees Celsius and cloudy skies.

“This is gear!” Breakfast was forgotten as Paul played with his new toy, coming up with new questions and laughing with glee at Siri’s responses.

“What’s your name?”

_**“Siri. Pleased to meet you.”** _

“What are you wearing?” Paul asked.

_**“Why do people keep asking me that?”** _

Paul hooted with laughter. “Are you free later?”

_**“I have nothing on my calendar, if that’s what you’re asking.”** _

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

_**“No, but drones are always trying to pick me up.”** _

Paul’s puzzled look made Lainey laugh. “Drones…” he repeated thoughtfully.

Lainey poured them both another cup of tea. “I’ll just wait patiently while you use my phone to chat up an imaginary robotic female.”

“What is your best chat up line?” Paul said into the phone.

 _ **“Is your name Bluetooth? Because I’m really feeling a connection,”** _ Siri responded.

“I don’t understand that…” Paul said softly. He rallied with another question. “Who’s your favorite rock and roll band?”

 _ **“You are!”** _ came Siri’s immediate response.

Lainey almost spit out a mouthful of tea at the look on Paul’s face.

“How did she do that?” he demanded, incredulous. “How does she know who I am?”

“She says that to everyone,” Lainey managed to say around fits of coughing and laughter.

“Why would she say that to everyone?”

Tears were in her eyes by the time she finished coughing. “Good point. Maybe it’s voice recognition. She must know your voice.”

Paul put down the phone. “Your little time travel robot device is too distracting. I need to work. I need to write a song today. You don’t mind if I play a little guitar, do you?”

“I would love for you to play a little guitar. What are you going to write about?”

Paul took a drink of tea and smacked his lips. “Let’s see. They say write what you know. So I should write about airplanes and hotel rooms and the back of bread vans. I think I’ll write about the way Room Service smells when you’re done with it but you’re too lazy to put it outside the door and the next day you can’t get the smell of barbecue out of your clothes.”

Lainey’s mouth curved with tenderness. “Is that what your life is like?”

“Not at the moment.” He tilted his head, his eyes locked on Lainey’s. “Maybe I could write an essay on how it feels to leave the one you love behind.”

“No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “Don’t make it sad.”

“All right then. I think I’ll write a song about someone taking your heart by surprise. I also know about that.” His eyes grew distant for a moment, as if he was picturing the phrases in his mind.

Lainey sat quietly, watching him think. Who knew what magic went on in his head when he put his mind to writing a song. When he focused his attention on her again, he seemed to have an idea forming.

“It’s Destiny,” that’s what I’ll call it.” He practically upended the chair in his haste to get to the living room and Lainey’s guitar.

When the breakfast dishes were cleaned and put away, Lainey brought two steaming cups of tea into the living room. Paul was hunched over her guitar, a mechanical pencil behind his ear, staring at a few paragraphs of scribbled lyrics on the back of a Comcast envelope.

 _“She’s keeping my heart, keeping my heart for her own._  
_Where is she? Where is she?_  
_Where in my life?_  
_I believe that one day I’ll see_  
_The queen of my life, my future wife, return to me”_

It was a pretty melody, soothing and earnest. Lainey sat beside him on the couch, facing him, sipping her tea, watching as he tinkered with the song, changing a word here, a line there, his fingers finding the right chords. Watching the magic happen in front of her eyes,Lainey bounced her foot along with the tune.

Paul stopped for a swig of tea. Then he rewarded her with a smile. “Or how about this one?” He changed the tempo, strumming at a faster pace, changing from major to minor chords but with an upbeat feel.

 _“I’ve got to admit it_  
_You took my heart by surprise_  
_Don’t know how you did it_  
_But baby, I’ve never felt so alive_  
_I already know what the future holds_  
_As long as you are here with me” *_

He ended on a G minor chord and looked up at her. “Piano?” he asked hopefully.

Lainey shook herself from her trance, finally remembering to breathe. _Those lyrics._ “Maybe we could wait until my dad and Jade are awake before we invade the studio?”

“Right on,” Paul agreed amiably. He looked back at the guitar. “This might be two different songs, y’know? Or it might not be a song at all. It might be…a love letter to my girl.” He lifted his head and gave her a lazy, loving smile. “Now that’a a notion, innit?”

Lainey set her cup on the table and leaned across the guitar, framing Paul’s face with her hands. “You. Amaze me.”

Their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss. “You amaze me too, love. And sometimes you’re just…a maze…” A light went on in his eyes, and he snatched the pencil from behind his ear and moved his head out of Lainey’s grasp to scrawl a few words on the envelope.

“You see what I did there, Rainbow? You’re amazing, but sometimes you’re a maze?” He frowned when Lainey didn’t immediately respond. “Too obvious? Ah well. It’s all trial and error really, this business of song writing.” He leaned over and scratched through the line he’d just written.

“I’m sure it will be grand. You’ve got the touch.” She stood and retrieved her tea cup. “I’m going to leave you to it and get us some groceries. There’s a storm brewing.”

“What do I care how much it may storm? I’ve got my love to keep me warm,” Paul’s campy singing voice accompanied her all the way up the stairs.

 

School was cancelled for the day, but the grocery store was packed and running low on staples. Lainey grabbed one of the last cases of bottled water and enough food for a week. Pasta, vegetables, fruit, eggs, cheese and bread. At least they wouldn’t starve.

 

Laden with groceries, Lainey let herself in to a quiet house. Too quiet. Paul must have gone to the music room. And her father’s car was gone. Maybe he and Jade were out gathering their own storm provisions. Lainey stored the perishables in the refrigerator and hurried across the grounds to check on Paul.

There he was, big dreamboat eyes and that pouty mouth she loved to kiss, and enough shiny dark hair to make an Irish Setter envious. He turned to smile at her and Lainey caught her breath. At the piano in her father’s music room, Paul was playing the unmistakable melody to “Yesterday.”

She crossed the room and dropped onto piano bench, transfixed. “When did you write that?” she whispered.

He stopped playing. “This melody, do you know it?”

“Yes. Of course. I love it. One of my favorites.”

He looked like she’d burst an entire bouquet full of balloons in his face. “Fuck. I was afraid of that. Well, what is it then? Did I hear it when I was here in 2012?”

“No, it’s yours, the song is all yours!” Lainey hurried to reassure him. “It’s a very famous McCartney original.”

His smile returned and his eyes twinkled. “What are the words then?”

Lainey grinned back. “I’ll never tell. But they’re marvelous.”

Returning to the keyboard, he played through the melody again, trying out snatches of lyrics, none of which Lainey recognized. She sat beside him, watching him work, mesmerized. After a few minutes, Paul nudged her with his shoulder. “Want to play something with me?”

“Will you teach me “Yesterday” on the guitar?” she asked.

His nose crinkled in confusion. “Will I what?”

Too late, Lainey realized her faux pas and rushed to correct it. “I mean, that new song…will you teach me your picking technique on the guitar?”

“Course I will.”

Lainey picked up her father’s Martin D acoustic. Paul took a moment to admire it before sitting across from her on the navy blue plush carpet with Lainey’s left handed guitar across his chest. Facing him, Lainey tried to mimic Paul’s chording and plucking technique. He was patient and encouraging, and they played until Lainey suddenly stopped and looked at the pads of her fingers. "Ouch," she complained.

Paul examined her left hand. “It hurts, I know. You have to build up the calluses.”

“I haven’t played for ages,” she admitted.

He brought her fingertips to his lips, kissing each one in turn. “We’ll play together every day while I’m here and it will get easier and easier.”

“How long will you be here?” Lainey blurted out the question she’d been wanting to ask since she first saw him at her door last night.

“I dunno…but that’s not the right question. The question is, when are you coming back with me?”

The words hung in the air between them, echoing in the silence.

Her heart stuttered as she tried to collect her thoughts. “You still want me to come back with you? After all this time?”

“Of course I do.” His voice had gone quiet and soft. “Look at you—long legs and curves in all the right places and a face I could look at for the rest of my life. And I feel so easy with you, like I don’t have to perform or be anyone else. I haven’t found this feeling with anyone else. And I missed you like mad. Yes, Lainey, I want you to come back with me.”

Lainey rubbed her hands on her jeans. the room suddenly felt too cold, and she felt like her insides were quivering. “But how could I stay? I wouldn’t have a birth certificate or a passport or any kind of a history at all…”

“I’ve been thinking about all of that.” He placed his guitar on the floor beside him and edged closer to her, their knees touching, his hands gripping her thighs. “I’ve had a year to think about it. I have money now. With enough money you can get all the identity papers you need. We would just have to come up with a plausible story about you being an orphan or something—”

He noticed the look of pain cross her face and winced a little. He took the guitar out of her lap and smoothed a hand over her hair before continuing. “—I know what I’m asking is huge, Lainey. And I know how hard it would be for you to leave people you love. But I truly believe there’s a reason you were given that ring.”

He dipped his head and peered into her face, making sure he had her complete attention. “You and I are the reason. We are the reason you were given the ring that brought you straight to me. We belong together. Don't you agree?"

Lainey hesitated, not trusting herself to speak. She hadn't expected this, especially not so soon. But she understood the feeling Paul was describing, the easy way they connected, the electricity between them, and she couldn't imagine feeling it with anyone else. "I don't know what to think," she said softly. "I love being with you. But this all seems a little sudden..."

He held out his hand to her. “Are you willing to try?”

His voice was low and seductive, and when he turned those eyes on her, dark and pooled with longing, she’d be likely to promise him anything.

She put her hand over his and let her fingers curl in between his to hold his hand. “Yes. I’m a little scared maybe, but I’m willing to try.”

“Come here.” He tugged her into his lap, brushing his lips against her hair. “I can’t tell you it will be easy, Lainey. But I can tell you there’s no question where my heart is.”

Outside the wind was picking up. Tree limbs groaned in protest. A flock of starlings flew from tree to tree, chattering nonstop in a vibrating swarm. Leaves swirled and clattered. The storm was coming.

Closing her eyes, Lainey clutched Paul’s shirt and took a deep breath, trying to quiet her mind. Despite her misgivings, he wanted her. And up to this point, she hadn’t had much luck saying no to anything Paul wanted. With a trembling sigh, she let herself relax into his warmth. He held her quietly, stroking her back.

They broke apart when the doorbell echoed through the house.

“I should get that. It could be UPS or something," Lainey said.

“Right.” Paul stood and helped her to her feet.

As she led the way through the house, Paul whistled the tune of "Yesterday" and paused outside each room to peer at artwork and family photographs. Lainey’s mind was spinning as she tried to imagine leaving everything and everyone she loved and following Paul McCarney back into the past. Of course she wanted to be with him. Every day with him was like unwrapping a new Beatles album. Endlessly surprising. Paul had changed her life. Continued to change her life. Being with him was like having a portal to another world—a world bigger, sexier, and often scarier but also wildly interesting and impossibly alluring.

But could she really leave the only reality she'd ever known and stay in the 1960s with Paul? Could she trust him not to break her heart after only a few months?

With all of those thoughts swirling through her brain, she opened the front door and froze.

"Hello, darling. You weren’t at the carriage house and I figured you’d be over here. I’ve brought you some homemade pumpkin bread and vegetable soup to get you through the storm. Whoo.. the wind is already starting to pick up…”

Lainey swept a hand behind her, too late to keep Paul from pressing up against her like a curious puppy, eager to know who was at the door.

She heard her grandmother’s sharp intake of breath as her gaze moved from Lainey's face to Paul's...and stayed there.

Her heart hammered in her ears, and Lainey seemed to lose the ability to speak. The silence was broken by Paul’s long and drawn out sigh into her hair as he locked eyes with the one person in Lainey’s life who would recognize him beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Grandma took two stumbling steps back, her face ghostly white. Paul muscled around Lainey and grabbed the tureen of soup a split second before it slipped from her grandmother's hands.

“Marie,” Paul said at last, “You’re looking well.”

 

*****************************

 

*Bliss lyrics by Alice Peacock


	32. Here I Am, Rock You Like A Hurricane

“Oh HELL no,” Grandma Marie muttered, one hand pressed to her heart as she swayed back on her heels, gaping at Paul in disbelief.

This was bad, Lainey realized. Very bad. Grandma Marie never swore. She reached out a hand to steady her grandmother.

“Grandma, please come in. You should sit down. I know this is a shock--"

Marie didn't even acknowledge Lainey. Her eyes were narrowed at Paul.

"What in the name of all the saints are you doing here with my granddaughter, looking like you're not a day over 21?" Her low, even voice held an ominous undertone.

“You know, Lainey’s right, maybe you should come in and take a seat and we'll have a cuppa tea and explain what's going on," Paul suggested.

"This isn't a tea party." Grandma Marie straightened. Both fists rested on her hips. "Start explaining."

"Well you see, we met this summer in London," Paul began, placing the soup on the table in the foyer.

Lainey let her hand fall back to her side. "I was given this strange looking ring from a gypsy," she added, her breath still short from the angst of seeing her grandmother and Paul face to face.

"A ring with magical properties," Paul said.

"We seem to be able to time travel now," Lainey finished, waiting for the shock to register on her grandmother’s face.

Instead, Marie’s gaze meandered down Paul's body and back up to his eyes. "Is there anyone else with you?"

What was she asking? Lainey wondered. Did she think they'd brought a young George Harrison forward in time somehow?

Paul shook his head. "We haven't exactly been announcing to the world that we have this ring, you see, 'cause that would be daft."

"I'll tell you what's daft. You thinking that you can waltz in here and romance my granddaughter. Because I know you, Paul McCartney, and you only have one thing on your mind when you're not playing music. And I don't see a guitar in your hands."

"Marie." Paul said her name like it was a disappointment to him. "I know it must be a shock to see me here, looking like this, and that you're likely startled, but I thought we were friends--"

"Oh we were friends all right. That's how I came to know you so well." She wagged a finger in Paul’s face. "I wouldn't have advised any of my girlfriends to take a chance on you. I know what a silver-tongued devil you are. If you think I'm going to stand by and let you tamper with my granddaughter's emotions, you have another think coming."

"No one is tampering with anyone's emotions." Paul scrubbed a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched with frustration.

"I've seen how you operate. Many times."

"I was a teenager, Marie. I may have broken a few hearts when I was a kid, and I'm not exactly proud of it. But I'm not a kid any more, and I'm not playing games with this girl’s heart."

Marie seemed to be just getting started. ”Lainey may be young, but she's an old soul, and she will quickly realize that your game plan is not the one for her."

"That's true, she is an old soul. And we have connected on a deep level." Paul sounded almost thoughtful.

"Oh hell's bells, I’ll just bet you have."

"We've spent a lot of time together, Grandma. We've gotten to know each other..." Lainey interjected.

"More good news," Grandma Marie said flatly. She finally looked at Lainey. "Does your father know about this?

"Yes...and no," Lainey hedged.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Marie darted another glare at Paul.

"I should be a lot of things, love. And maybe you should be willing to trust your granddaughter's judgment when it comes to giving her heart away."

This was followed by a foreboding silence, as the two most important people in Lainey’s world stared each other down.

Paul opened his mouth to speak and then clamped it shut again. He seemed to think for a bit and then said, “The thing is you see, I've been caught up in a set of behaviors that I don't actually enjoy any more." He reached a hand beneath Lainey's hair and squeezed her neck. "And I love her, yeah? So that settles it. We're together."

"Would you believe when I woke up this morning I thought a goddamn hurricane was the worst thing I would have to deal with today?" Marie said.

She reached in her bag, pulled out a loaf of bread wrapped in foil and dropped it on top of the tureen of soup. “Lainey darling, why don’t take the soup over to the guest house and put it in the fridge, there you go. And take your time. I'm going to have a little chat with my young friend from the past."

Lainey hesitated. Should she leave Paul alone with her grandmother? Paul caught her eye and winked, as if to say "I got this."

 

She left the two of them glaring at each other and hurried to the carriage house. The wind whipped her hair across her face and twisted her skirt around her legs. Tree limbs groaned in protest. Lainey barely noticed. Every tree on the property could crash down and the last thought in her head would be that Paul McCartney had just told her grandmother that he loved her.

Lainey threw on a denim jacket and rushed back to find Paul and her grandmother together on the front porch swing under leaden skies, leaves swirling around their feet from gusts that blew across the long wraparound porch. Paul's legs were splayed wide in front of him, as men were wont to do. Marie's hands were clenched in her lap, except when she shook a finger in Paul's face to illustrate a point. Their voices were low and rushed, as if they were arguing.

She stood at the window, wringing her hands, wondering how the situation could get any worse, and then it did. Her father’s Ford F-250 pickup was coming up the long drive.

Grandma Marie stopped mid-rant the moment Lainey burst through the front door onto the porch.

“Grandma, no one else knows about Paul. They know him as James.” Her words rushed out in her most pleading voice. “Please…you won’t tell them will you?”

“You and I are going to talk,” Grandma Marie said, her expression dour.

Lainey had no response. She just stood there twisting her hands as her dad and Jade and Jackson tumbled out of the truck.

Paul was already halfway down the steps, his hand extended in greeting. “Hello, Sir, this is some kind of weather we’re having, innit?”

Lainey’s father took off his ball cap, scratched his head and replaced the cap before finally shaking Paul’s hand. “Back again, I see.”

“Ohh, James!” Jade cooed, holding her windswept hair back with one hand. “How lovely to see you again!”

From her seat in the porch swing, Grandma Marie cleared her throat, drawing Lainey’s attention from the scene unfolding in the driveway. “I have only one thing to say to you, young lady. Have you lost your damn mind? You do realize the panties literally melt off every girl he meets?”

“That’s two things. And Grandma, please, not now?” Lainey begged. She hurried down the steps to Paul’s side.

“Jackson’s a bit under the weather,” her father was saying. “We’ve just been to the vet.”

Paul stooped down and cupped Jacksons face. "Whatsa matter boy? Not a fan of hurricanes either?"

Jackson closed his eyes, softly panting.

“Is he okay?” Lainey asked, a hand over her heart. She wasn’t ready for anything to happen to Jackson. Please, not that too…

“The doctor says it’s his arthritis,” Jade answered. Her eyes took in Lainey’s appearance from head to toe. “I can always count on you to be the most colorful part of the day,” Jade said, not unkindly.

“Did you run out of fabric with that skirt?” her father asked, casting a disapproving look her way.

Lainey looked down at her short skirt, paisley tights and short boots, crop top and denim jacket. It had seemed one of the more sedate things in her closet.

Paul straightened and beamed a smile. “I think your daughter is an artist ahead of her time.”

Her father made a harrumph sound.

“Oh, speaking of art!” Jade looped a hand through Paul’s arm and guided him toward the porch, chattering merrily about some bowl she’d just made.

“Jackson’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Lainey asked her father again.

“The doc thinks the old boy still has some life left in him.” They both watched the dog meander toward the rhododendrons and hike his back leg. “Your mother called this morning, woke everyone up. Wants to make sure you’re staying in the big house during this storm.”

“Dad. We’ll..I mean I’ll be all right. If we get a direct hit or something, of course I’ll come over.”

“So this British fellow is back again. Should we be expecting you to end up in England any day now like your brother?”

“No, dad, I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

“I sure hope we didn’t spend all this money on your fancy education for you to drop out when the end is in sight.”

“Of course not, Dad. I mean, we’re…it’s serious, but I’m not leaving school in my Senior year.”

“Hello Richard.” Lainey’s grandmother came up behind her and rested a hand on Lainey’s shoulder.

“Marie. Ready for the storm?”

“Indeed,” Marie said, steering Lainey toward her sedan. There was no love lost between Marie and the man who had gotten her daughter in the family way not once but twice, and never married her. But they managed to remain civil, at least in front of Lainey and her brother.

As soon as they were out of earshot of her father, Lainey turned pleading eyes on her grandmother. “You won't tell Mom, will you?”

“When have I ever spilled your secrets?” Marie let out a long sigh. “But this is one doozy of a secret.”

Lainey bit her lip, her eyes resting on her slender, beautiful grandmother, in her navy slim trousers with tiny yellow flowers and a matching yellow sweater set. Her shiny grey hair was bobbed and tucked neatly behind her ears, while Lainey’s hair swirled around them in a messy cloud.

“Grandma, you accepted the idea of the ring a lot better than I thought you would. I mean, it’s almost too crazy to believe.”

Marie took both of Lainey’s hands in hers. “Just where is this ring, dear?”

“Paul has it now, but he’s going to leave it with me…” she began, not really wanting to go into detail about how Paul wanted her joining him in 1964, the sooner the better.

“I have a strange feeling about this ring,” Marie murmured. “You and I are going to do a lot of talking when this storm is over and that oversexed Lothario is back where he belongs. And you know both of those things can’t happen soon enough for me.”

Lainey pulled her hands free and wrapped them around her grandmother’s back, breathing in her sweet lavender scent. “I love you. Thanks for the food. Thanks for not killing him.”

“It’s not over yet,” Grandma warned, but she gave Lainey a hard squeeze and a half smile before climbing into the car. “Stay safe and stay right where you are until we talk.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The first few drops of rain splattered on the windshield of the sedan. “Here it comes,” Lainey called, ducking her head and sprinting back to the safety of the porch, where she waved at her grandmother until she was out of sight.

************************

“Your grandmother has to be the toughest crowd I've ever played to. And I played some very rough gigs early on.”

They were standing at the kitchen counter, clearing up the dishes from lunch.

“She took it a lot better than I thought she would,” Lainey mused. “I think something is up with how well she’s taking this…”

Paul leaned his back against the counter, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He gave her a sympathetic smile. “What if we bring her back with us? Temporarily at least. So you don’t have to leave everyone behind?”  
Lainey chuckled as she took the dish cloth from his shoulder and hooked it over the front of the oven door. “Let’s weather this storm first before we start sending my relatives back and forth through time.”

He reached for her waist, pulling her flush against him. “You give me a high pressure system. In my pants.”

Giggling, Lainey snuggled into his arms. “Hurricane humor. It’s the best.”

“Want to know the weather indoors? It’s 69…all day long, baby.”

She hooked a finger inside his belt loop. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor.” He dipped his head and smiled against her lips as she tugged him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

*************************

“I wish we had better weather for your visit,” Lainey said. They were lying in bed, wreathed in smoke from Paul’s cigarette, while the wind and rain lashed against the window panes.

Paul flicked his gaze toward the window. "Is it raining? I hadn't noticed.”

They’d spent the afternoon slowly rediscovering each other with fingers and lips and teeth and tongues. Lainey was amazed by how empowering it felt, to be the one who made this gorgeous man unravel. Now they lay side by side, limbs loose, skin prickly with heat.

Paul propped himself up on an elbow, smiling softly down at her. “Did you like that?”

Lainey nodded, reaching out a hand to play with his sweaty hair. “Way too much.”

He stretched away from her to put out his cigarette. When he rolled back, he was holding a black marker he’d found on the bedside table.

“Be still,” he said, pulling the cap off the pen with his teeth and pressing the felt tip to the skin beside her hip bone.

Lainey didn’t ask what he was doing. She busied herself sliding her hands through his hair, over his shoulders, across his jaw, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, as if reading him in Braille.

He finished, silently admiring his handiwork.

_**A toi, pour toujours** _

It took Lainey a moment to translate what he’d written from her bare pubic bone to her hip bone, upside down as it was, and in French.

“Forever yours,” she whispered.

He rubbed his thumb over the unmarked skin below his handwriting, as if considering all the things he could write there. “I want to tattoo these words with my lips and my pen all over the canvas of your body, in my handwriting. And then read you every day, over and over again.”

“I like it,” she said. “Ink me up.”

“Good.” He bent his head to fill in a loop, darkening a letter, humming as he worked.

“What is that?”

“Sorry?”

“You’ve been humming that song the whole time you’ve been writing on me.”

He looked up, smiled softly. “Just a little something I’ve been tossing about.”

He capped the pen and blew a stream of air over her inked skin. Then he started to sing.

 _“Don’t get up just yet_  
_It’s much too cold and wet_  
_Better stay in bed_  
_Hibernate instead._  
_Fifteen minutes more_  
_What you waiting for?_  
_Back into your dreams_  
_Better stay inside_  
_Hibernate and hide.”_

“I like it,” Lainey said, smiling as she drew random shapes and letters on his shoulders with her fingers.

“I call it Hurricane Rainbow,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

They were both laughing when Lainey’s phone began to ring.

“Ugh. Let’s not answer it. It definitely sounds like my mom calling.”

“What a fucking great song, though,” Paul said, humming along to the Jimi Hendrix version of Sgt Pepper.

“It’s a good one,” Lainey agreed. The phone stopped ringing. Seconds later, her phone whistled a text alert.

Paul grabbed the phone from the bedside table, dropping it into Lainey’s hands and settling back onto the pillow to read along with her. He could be a nosy one.

**Hurricane party at Poe’s. 10:00?**

“It’s Kate,” Lainey explained. “Want to go to a hurricane party?”

“Not half,” Paul said.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lainey said, texting Kate and handing the phone back to Paul.

**********************

As soon as they arrived at the pub, Kate grinned at Paul and dragged Lainey into the ladies restroom. “First of all, I like your skirt,” she said, giving the heavy red fabric a tug. “Is this upholstery material? With black tulle underneath?”

Lainey shrugged. “I was just messing around with textures, you know.”

“What does James think of your designs?”

It took Lainey a split second to remember who James was. A few seconds later, a frown crossed her face. “Well, he’s never asked me to change, like you know who.”

“Sorry for bringing up a sore subject,” Kate said, twisting her pretty features into a moue. “Nathan was an idiot. You’re way better off without him.”

“Yeah. No doubt.” It had been the last straw when Lainey’s boyfriend of six months had asked her to be his plus one at a wedding in June but begged her beforehand to “please dress normal.” To please him, she’d died her blue hair back to chestnut brown and donned a horrible coral bridesmaid looking dress, and when the evening was over, Lainey knew she couldn’t stay with someone who only wanted to change her.

“And second of all,” Kate continued, her eyes brightening. “James? Is back?”

Lainey bit her lower lip, trying to hide her secret smile of delight. “Yeah! Sorry for not telling you. We’ve been staying in a bit, you know, staying close to home…”

“Let me find my surprised face,” Kate deadpanned.

Lainey laughed at Kate’s reflection in the mirror. Then she examined her own reflection, smoothing a hand over her windblown, rain dampened hair.

“So he’s really building up those frequent flyer miles. What’s the story?”

“No story yet…but you’ll be the first to know.”

 

Ryan and James/Paul were already at a table, nursing what looked like bottles of Guinness. “Stop by the bar with me,” Kate demanded. “I’m going to order some of those yummy cheese stick things.”

While they were waiting for the bartender, Paul slid up beside Lainey, bumping her shoulder. “Hey you. You’re the prettiest girl here. Can I buy you a drink?”

Lainey looked up at him, happiness coursing through her. To think that this beautiful man with the slicked back hair and the huge chocolate eyes and gorgeous accent was hers. Hers. At least until he got itchy fingers and felt the irresistible urge to be back in a recording studio again. She looked at his eyes, his eyebrows, his lips for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “That line must work every single time.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said, eyes wide and guileless. “I’ve only used it this once.”

“Mmmhmm.” She was still thinking of a response when the bartender approached and slapped two coasters in front of them, startling them both.

“A large order of cheese sticks and a Guinness please,” Kate ordered, pointing to the table where Ryan was waiting.

“You got it,” the bartender called to Kate’s retreating back. “What can I do you for?” he said to Lainey, leaning forward. He tilted his chin at Paul. “Another Guinness?”

Paul nodded. “Sure mate.”

“Let’s see, how about something with vodka and cranberry?” Lainey said, examining the bottles lining the wall.

“Sex on the Beach?” the bartender said with a raised eyebrow.

“No thanks, hold the Peach schnapps,” Lainey said.

“As you wish, my lady,” the bartender said, turning away with a smirk to start her drink.

“The fuck was that?” Paul spat, his face reddening. “Am I gonna have to kick that wanker’s arse?”

“What are you talking about? Who?”

He smacked his empty beer bottle down on the bar. “Am I invisible? He was all over you. Bloody tosser!”

“All over me taking my drink order? Yeah, what a monumental jerk,” Lainey gave him a baffled stare.

“Sex on the bloody beach?” Paul demanded.

“Oh…that! It’s a drink,” she explained, finally understanding what he was getting so worked up about.

“My English arse it is!”

“Calm down!” Lainey hissed at Paul, just as the bartender set down both of their drinks, winking at Lainey before walking away.

Okay, maybe the bartender was being a bit of a tosser. Paul threw a ten on the bar, grabbed Lainey’s arm and led her back to the table, muttering “fucking knob head” under his breath.

A few beers later, with a belly full of cheese sticks, Paul had forgotten his grievous affront by the bartender, and the four of them were happily exchanging hurricane tales and other funny stories.

“You’d have to know John,” Paul said, finishing a story that had them all in stitches. “He’s always sending someone up.”

“Who’s John?” Kate asked, reaching for the last cheese stick. “You said he was messing with a reporter. Is he someone we should know, someone famous?”

Lainey and Paul exchanged a look.

“You said you’re in a band, right?” Ryan prodded.

“Oh, well, you know, being famous in England is a little different from being famous in the U.S., right sweetie?” Lainey said, patting Paul’s thigh, an eyebrow arched in warning.

Paul looked at her hand on his thigh. Then he looked in her eyes for an awkward moment. She could practically read his mind. He was feeling patronized, and his ego was taking a hit. She could just imagine their conversation on the way home, when he would complain about pretending to be “a no-talent ass clown” so that no one would discover their secret.

“Exactly.” Paul nodded, keeping his eyes on Lainey. “We’re nobody, really. You’ve never heard of us.”

“Well I for one admire you for being true to your art, even when nobody wants to listen.” Kate raised her bottle of beer. “Cheers!”

Paul shot Lainey a “you've got to be kidding me” look before tapping his bottle to Kate’s. “I admire you too, Kitty Kat.”

“Kitty Kat?” Kate was practically purring. “I like the way that sounds out of your English mouth.”

“Down, Kitty Kat,” Lainey said, laughing in spite of herself. “This English mouth is taken. By your best friend.”

Ryan reached for his wallet. “I better get this Kitty Kat home. He nodded at Paul. “This one’s on me, bro.”

“Thanks mate,” Paul said.

Lainey checked the television behind the bar one last time. “Looks like the hurricane may just miss us. New York is going to get hammered though.”

Paul stood, helping Lainey into her jacket. “And so are you, my lady,” he whispered into her ear, sending a chill down her spine.

************************

There was a night of frightening wind gusts followed by two days of torrential rain, and then it was over, with New York and New Jersey both declaring a state of emergency.

Lainey and Paul spent their time indoors, playing house and making love and occasionally sneaking across to the music room to practice together on the piano. Long afternoons were spent together on the couch, with the weather channel or some music video station playing with the sound off. Paul plucked out complicated melodies on the guitar and filled his notebook with lyrics while Lainey sat next to him, filling her sketch pad with doodles and designs.

On Monday morning, Paul was lying in bed, a burning cigarette in one hand, lazily watching Lainey hopping around on one foot, pulling on her tights as she dressed for school. “I have to get back home,” he said quietly.

Lainey froze, her heart suddenly filled with an icy dread. One leg in tights and the other bare, she moved to the edge of the bed and sat down with a sigh. “Right now?”

His fingernails raked a trail down her spine, making her shiver. “Yeah. I have to get back to work, you know?”

“Right. I know you do.” She bit her lip, staring out the window at the water soaked backyard, unable to meet his eyes.

“But you’ll be in London for Christmas, right? You said Marie is bringing you to visit your brother?”

Lainey nodded, unable to find her voice. She could scarcely believe he was already leaving her. Again.

He sat up, grabbed a pen from the bedside table and motioned for Lainey to provide paper. Wordlessly she crossed the room and brought him her sketch pad.

“I had to change my number again,” Paul was saying. “Fans keep getting it and won’t stop ringing me up. So I changed it again.” He was babbling, probably feeling anxious about blindsiding her like this with his sudden departure. “The upside is, nobody rings me anymore. The downside is, nobody rings me anymore.” He chuckled, humorlessly.

Lainey nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to smile, much less laugh.

“So, this is Neil’s number. Hunter 1931.” He capped the pen, and tapped it on the page. “Call him as soon as you get back to me. He’ll be expecting you to call.”

She didn’t respond. Paul put down the sketch pad and pen and pulled her backwards with him onto the mattress. “Baby, don’t be this way. It’s only a couple of months and we’ll be together again. This time hopefully for keeps.”

Lainey swallowed. There was no way she was staying in 1960 something until she had finished school in May. She wisely decided to leave that argument for another day, another time.

With both hands on her back, he worked his fingers into her muscles, rubbing and kneading. She closed her eyes and drifted, letting herself go limp as he drained all the tension from her body. She had to hand it to him, Paul was good at massage. His musician’s fingers were powerful and nimble and found all the knots. “I knead you,” he said, turning her over onto her stomach and pressing his way down the rungs of her spine, springing each vertebrae like a catch. He was always terrific with his hands.

“We’ll be the couple that everyone says wow, they’re still together? I never want to stop falling in love with you. I want to be able to look beside me and see you next to me, no matter where life decides to take me.” The massage over, he placed a kiss next to her ear.

Lainey flipped over onto her back, coming fully alert again. “I don’t understand. How are you going to get the ring back to me?”

“Get dressed and I’ll show you.”

Slowly she raised her leg into the air, shifting so that she could wriggle the rest of the way into her tights.

“How do you make putting on clothes so sexy?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you stay a little longer and find out?” she said, but it was plain her heart wasn’t in the offer.

She flipped through her closet, barely able to focus on finding a skirt to match the hunter green silk shirt and navy tights. Finally selecting a dark brown corduroy skirt, she ended up on her hands and knees, searching in the closet and under her bed for her missing brown boot. Paul found it on the far side of the bed next to the wall.

“You’re moving really slow,” he said, smacking her smartly on the ass. “Every night when we were small my brother and I used to get a biscuit before we went to bed, and we used to nibble on it very, very slowly…” He put his hand up to his mouth to imitate. “…to stall for time.”

“That’s me,” Lainey said. “Always trying to get more time with my biscuit.” With both boots on, she stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder.

Paul pulled her gently toward the stairs. “In a couple of months we’ll have all the time in the world. Come outside, I’ll show you what I have in mind.”

***************************

In a fog Lainey lumbered through her classes, her mind in a haze. What if she got home and Paul was gone and the ring wasn’t there? What if she couldn’t get back to him ever again? Why did she keep putting her heart at risk this way?

Finally classes ended and Lainey drove home, her heart heavy with dread. The shovel she’d given to Paul was nowhere to be seen. Who knew where it was, or when? Back to the tool shed for another shovel, then to the corner of the carriage house, holding her breath as she counted off the twenty paces toward the oak tree as Paul had instructed, and she began to dig.

And there it was, her brand new tea canister, now fifty years old and rusted and weathered with age. There was a clunking sound inside that could only be the ring. She had to wedge her fingernails underneath the lid and force it open. Finally, to her relief, the lid flew off and Lainey turned the canister upside down, the gold ring landing cold and heavy in her hand. She wanted to kiss it, but who knew where she could end up if she did something unexpected with the ring. She fitted in onto her right ring finger and reached into the canister. There was something else…a page from Paul’s school notebook. Lyrics, she guessed, her lips pulling up in a sad semblance of a smile as she began to read.

 _By the time you read this baby, I will love you still_  
_If my words escape you baby, I swear the man never will_  
_let me tell you you’re beautiful_  
_trace your face with fingertips_  
_with a love that doesn’t end at midnight_

 _Come with me._  
_Take my hand._

 _You are mine tomorrow._  
_You are mine._

_A toi, pour toujours_

 

“Forever yours,” Lainey whispered softly. A tear trickled down her cheek. So many goodbyes came with loving this man. But now she had the ring, that tenuous tether between the two of them was back in her possession. With the ring on her right hand and the letter clutched to her heart, Lainey headed back into the house and into the start of yet another week without Paul in her life.


	33. What'd I Say

December 2012, London

It was barely daylight on a cool, crisp day in London when Lainey reached the little red phone booth near Regent’s Park that she knew also existed in 1964. Her heart was pounding with anticipation. It hadn’t been easy, convincing her grandmother that she was old enough to know what she was doing and smart and savvy and wasn’t going to let a rock star like Paul McCartney break her heart. She’d been on pins and needles for what felt like weeks, waiting for the letters from George to sell and for Grandma Marie to announce that their Christmas trip to London to see Lainey’s brother was still on.

Trapped together in a silver tube flinging itself through space, all the way across the ocean her grandmother had nattered on about her recollections of Don Juan McCartney from Liverpool while Lainey chewed her nails to the quick, nodding when it was required and trying her best not to show any reaction. Frankly, her grandmother could have told her she’d watched Paul engaging in drug-fueled orgies with groupies every night at the Cavern Club in the middle of the stage and hardly a word of it would have reached Lainey’s ears. All she could think about was that she was only hours away from holding him again.

In the hotel room last night in Oxford, Grandma Marie had come up behind her as Lainey stood at the window, her thumb grazing the gold ring as she stared in the vague direction of London. He was So.Very. Close.

“Sweetheart, have you even listened to a single word I’ve said?” Grandma Marie had asked.

“You won’t even notice I’m gone,” Lainey had responded, completely avoiding the question.

Alone in the phone booth, with no one noticing her, she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the strong smell of urine as she checked the contents of her backpack yet again. A pretty red knit dress to wear for Christmas Day, a few other articles of clothing and her sketchpad and pencils. Most importantly, Paul’s Christmas present was securely folded and wrapped. Her handbag held the usual cosmetics, a bit of old British money, a charge card for her travels around 2013 and her iPhone. Leaving nothing to chance, Lainey had made sure the ring held a picture of Paul she’d taken herself only two months ago.

The ring worked its magic, and in seconds Lainey was reeling from her journey through time, an arm flailing out to clutch onto the shelf of a much more pleasant smelling phone box in the middle of a downpour.

In the moment it took for her head to stop spinning, Lainey realized she was shivering with cold. It had to be at least twenty degrees colder here. Global warming indeed. And it would have been nice if she’d thought to pack an umbrella when she set out on that perfectly sunny morning in 2012.

At least there were no pedestrians about. No one interested in her phone booth, where she might be parked for quite a while if Neil Aspinall wasn’t home to answer his phone.

The odds were apparently in her favor, Eros the god of love had to be smiling on her that day, because Neil answered on the second ring. “Hang on a tick,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “We’ll send a car.”

“God loves a tryer,” Lainey murmured, rubbing her arms and stamping her feet a bit to keep warm. It was one of the old-fashioned, quirky adages Paul liked to use, one that he said he’d learned from his dad.

Twenty minutes later a large black Austin Princess limousine pulled up and idled on the street just in front of the phone box. A uniformed driver stepped out, raised an umbrella and looked Lainey’s way. Are you serious? she thought. A limousine and a driver roused from 24/7 standby to fetch her at a moment’s notice? So this was what life was like for the Beatles in late 1964.

  
They splashed through grey sodden London streets for fifteen minutes or so, with Lainey reflecting on how much quieter it was here in 1964. The driver circled a huge park and suddenly stopped beside a crowd of people on the sidewalk in front of a six story red brick building.

“Whaddon House,” the driver announced, meeting Lainey’s eyes in the rear view mirror as if for confirmation.

“Okay,” Lainey said hesitantly. She had no idea where Paul even lived now. For all she knew, this man could be dropping her off at the Tower of London to be stretched on a rack until she confessed she didn’t belong here in 1964.

The driver stepped out and raised an umbrella, and that must have been some sort of signal for the crowd to drop their own umbrellas and converge en masse on the limousine. It was all teenage girls, Lainey now realized, suddenly screaming and waving cameras and lunging at the vehicle, pressing their faces against the glass.

Lainey reared back in alarm. “Whatthefuck!” she blurted, instinctively crawling across the seat to the far side of the car. She heard thumps beside her ear and realized there were girls in the street now, pressing themselves against all the windows, shouting and pounding on the glass. Then there were lower shouts in a male’s voice and to Lainey’s relief a pair of police officers seemed to appear out of nowhere and attempt to peel girls from the door closest to the curb. After a moment the door swung wide open and the driver’s hands were reaching for Lainey. “Chop chop, Lass, no time to fiddle around.”

She could do nothing more than hug her purse and backpack to her chest as she was practically lifted from the back of the sedan and dragged through a gauntlet of frustrated bobbies and screaming girls with clawing hands who seemed thoroughly worked up at finding Lainey in the Austin Princess and not a Beatle.

“In you go,” the driver said, shoving Lainey through a big white door and slamming it shut behind her.

“Jesus Christ,” Lainey muttered, trying to catch her breath as she made sure her belongings, as well as her hair and her arms and legs were still attached. Through a curtain of damp hair she noticed a figure descending the stairs to her right. She shoved back her hair and turned to see Paul, wreathed in a smile, taking the stairs two at a time in a rush to get to her.

Her backpack slid off her shoulder to the floor, and Lainey almost stumbled over it in her haste to get to him.

“Hello my beautiful rainbow—“ His words ended in an “oomph” as Lainey hurdled the backpack, jumped into his arms and straddled his waist. Her lips were on his in a second. They broke the kiss, laughing with happiness, and he held her to his chest, burying his face in her neck. He sighed, a deep rumbling sound from his chest that gave her goose bumps. She shivered, but her skin was burning like she had a fever.

“Fuck, I missed you. You smell so fucking good.” He set her down. They took each other in.

Paul reached up a hand to smooth a few damp strands of hair back from her face. “You’re a bit drenched,” he said, at the same moment Lainey blurted out, “I can’t believe I’m really here!”

“I know,” he said, gathering her close again. “I heard the noise. Any trouble from the fans getting in?”

“No trouble at all,” Lainey said, breathless. She was actually here, in London, in Paul’s arms. Nothing else mattered.

He raised his head and looked toward the door as a fresh wave of shrieks sounded from the street.

“He should have brought you around the back. New driver, doesn’t know what the bloody hell he’s doing.”

“It’s fine,” Lainey said, pulling his mouth back to hers. He kissed her deeply, then rocked her in his arms for a moment.

“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll take the lift.”

He hefted her backpack and led her to the other side of the foyer.

“How long have you lived here?” Lainey asked, stepping inside the lift.

“Couple months. Brian lives on the top floor. It’s a bit more secure. There’s a private parking area underneath. That’s how we escape.”

Paul unlocked a door on the fourth floor and held it open, gesturing for Lainey to lead the way into a light and spacious reception room opening on a huge balcony.

“Wow,” Lainey said, her eyes drawn to the wall of floor to ceiling windows. “This is amazing.”

“Hyde Park,” Paul said, pointing to an open green space just beyond the two story building across the street.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked. She’d never imagined him living in a luxurious penthouse like this. It was quite a step up from the first Beatles flat she’d visited all those months ago.

“I live with George and Ringo.” He dropped her backpack on the edge of a cream damask sofa.

Lainey’s gaze slid to the back of the penthouse, where she assumed the bedrooms were located.

“They’re both in Liverpool for the holidays.” He smiled. “Which means you can be as loud as you’d like.”

Lainey started to giggle as Paul stepped toward her. She was feeling a little loud, actually.

He pushed her short leather jacket off her shoulders and down her arms and chucked it over a chair. Just as he reached for her again the phone rang.

“Hello?” Paul said, and listened for a moment. “Look love, would you mind not ringing? We have to get some sleep.”

“We’re ex directory and still they find it,” he muttered, unplugging the phone from the wall.

“Does it ring all the time?”

“Aye, I've been meaning to tell Neil it's time to change our number again.”

Lainey made a tour around the room, touching everything with fascination. A large jukebox stood in one corner, full of what looked like '50s records. It didn’t appear to be plugged in.

“Does this work?”

“Not at the moment. Not sure what’s going on with it.”

On the other side of the juke box, two sacks of mail rested against several stacked towers of packages that reached nearly to her height and looked ready to topple over. Lainey peered at a few of the mailing labels. “A lot of these are for you, aren’t you going to open them?”

“Why would I do that? It’s not like they hold any surprises.” Behind her, Paul lit a cigarette. “A bust of my head made out of chewed gum? I’ve already seen it. A bra with my name embroidered on the cups? Got it.” He blew out a plume of smoke, sounding bored. “Playing cards made out of knickers? I appreciate the creativity, but we already have quite a few sets of those.”

Laughing, Lainey continued her tour. “Nice stereo,” she murmured, running her fingers over a rack of 45s. “This is so cool, I haven’t ever seen one of these racks in real life. I mean my dad sells them, they’re vintage. But I don’t know anyone who owns one.”

She selected a 45 at random and held it up. It was “What’d I Say” by Ray Charles. “Can we play this one?”

“I would do, but the stereo is clapped out, a wire loose or something, I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“You’re kidding me, right? I’m in the Beatles apartment…um flat…”

“Penthouse,” he corrected.

“Penthouse, and the stereo doesn’t work?”

“We’re a bit flaky, I know. And far too busy for our own good.” He rested the cigarette on the edge of a marble ashtray. “I’ll have to entertain you live I suppose.”

A black upright piano stood next to the wall of windows. Paul leaned over and played a few left-handed riffs of “What’d I say.”

“It has a nice tone.” Lainey pulled out the bench and they sat at the piano together.

Paul sang a few bars and turned to look at her. “I'm going to have it painted with a rainbow, so I will always think of my colorful baby when I'm composing.”

She smiled and leaned her cheek on his shoulder. This was turning into a wonderful day.

“How's your family?” Paul asked suddenly.

“Everyone's fine except...we lost Jackson.”

He stopped playing. “Give over. You don't mean it."

Lainey bit her bottom lip, her eyes misting at the memory. “Just after you left. He was such a good old dog.”

“Aw babe. I'm so sorry.” His arm went around her waist, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. “I've never had a dog of my own. When you get here to stay, we’ll get a dog. Dogs, plural. And cats. That way you won't be lonely when I'm on the road.”

Woah. They were getting ahead of themselves. But it was the sweetest thing she'd heard in a very long time. Paul always seemed to know what to say.

He sat back, watching her closely. She was tired and jet lagged and likely had mascara smudges underneath her puffy eyes. "Where's your bathroom?"

“My bedroom is at the end of the hall. It’s an en suite.”

As Lainey collected her handbag and her backpack, Paul plugged the phone back in at the wall. It rang immediately. He picked up the handset, listened a moment and set it down again. Then he picked it up and began to spin the dial before it could ring again.

The bathroom was the most luxurious she’d ever seen in her visits to the 1960s. She wiped at her eyes with a tissue and tried to do something about her hair.

She checked her backpack for the tenth time, making sure again that Paul's Christmas present was still safely tucked inside.

There was a thumping sound from the bedroom, and she opened the door to see Paul dropping a small suitcase onto his bed. “Pack your bags, we're flying to the sun.”

“I don't have any bags.” She lifted her backpack to illustrate all she’d brought.

“No matter,” Paul said, tossing a pair of jeans into the suitcase. “We'll get what you need when we get there.

“But…I don't have a passport for 1964."

“In fact, you do."

He slid open a drawer and took out a navy booklet, handing it to Lainey.

It looked as official as the passport she’d used to enter the U.K. just yesterday. She turned the first page, her eyes widening as she read.

_Lainey Spencer, U.S. Citizen, date of birth June 22, 1943._

"Oh my hell. How did you do this? It looks so real."

"I told you with enough money, you can make things happen. And I happen to have a few million knocking about.”

She hesitated. “And you want to leave the country? I just got here.”

“This bloody rain is sucking the life out of me, love. And you’ve just lost Jackson. You could use a proper holiday. I just rang Neil, he’s arranging a private flight and all the details.” He stepped closer and lifted her hair from her neck, placing a kiss just beneath her jaw. “Let me fly you to the sun.”

“Oh. Okay…” She shivered from his touch. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts, but Lainey slid the new passport into her handbag without another word. Evidently they were flying to the sun.

 

They found “the sun” by late afternoon, at a secluded seaside villa in Portugal. With colorful gardens, and a wide, exquisite beach bookended by tall, multicolored cliffs that Lainey couldn’t wait to photograph and turn into a painting. All along this stretch of coastline, mellow rock formations created caverns and arches, a beautiful complement to the turquoise sea. Paradise.

Their room was beautifully appointed, but Paul seemed most delighted by the magnificent bathroom with a sunken bath. Lainey felt sure a joint bubble bath was in her future, until Paul turned to her with an amazed grin and said, “Blimey, the acoustics in here are ideal for songwriting!”

They did try out the bath that afternoon, after trying out the bed, and the couch and the floor. In fact they barely slept that first night. There was far too much to catch up on, and when they weren’t naked or getting naked or thinking about getting naked, they talked constantly.

Paul could sit up all night and talk about anything. He was a tireless ham and generally camped about like crazy, standing up to illustrate his stories until Lainey held her sides with laughter.

They finally drifted off to sleep, and Lainey awoke alone in bed some hours later. Paul was in the magnificent bathroom playing something magnificent on the guitar. She couldn’t put her finger on the tune, but she liked it, and it made her know somehow that today would be a good day.

They dressed and sleepily wandered down the beach to a little cafe for coffee and breakfast, past a pair of gypsies in mismatched layers of multicolored clothes who smiled and bowed their heads at the coins Paul gave them.

Paul had that certain swagger and an air of relaxed confidence that made everyone in the restaurant take notice. To Lainey’s surprise, he was instantly recognized by a group of German tourists. He effortlessly and eagerly spoke to everyone who approached him, signing autographs and looking each person in the eye. “Would you mind not telling anyone we’re here?” he asked the group as a waiter approached, and the tourists nodded and waved in response as they took their leave.

With that out of the way and breakfast ordered, he turned his attention full on Lainey. She was growing addicted to the buzz she felt when he was looking directly at her. She was growing addicted to Paul, period.

“We’re having a bash at another film. No name yet.”

She leaned back and took a gentle sip of the espresso Paul had ordered for her. The coffee here was flat out amazing. “Is that right?” He must be talking about _Help!_ , she realized.

“We’re working on the soundtrack right now. That’s why I brought my guitar.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you go a day without a guitar in your hands.”

The waiter dropped off a plate of grilled bread smothered in butter. Lainey’s stomach rumbled at the sight and smell of it.

“Obrigado,” Paul said with a nod to the waiter. He pushed the plate toward Lainey.

At the table next to them, two young mothers sipped milky coffee between gentle coos to their babies and long drags on their cigarettes. Businessmen, grandmothers, tourists—everyone seemed to smoke in the sixties.

With their knees touching beneath the tiny table, Lainey nibbled on buttery toast and listened as Paul filled her in on what he’d been up to in the last couple of months. His accountant had told him to invest in real estate. He was looking at houses in Chester Terrace but was blocked by someone in the neighborhood.

“Can you believe that?” he demanded, a sneer on his face. I suppose the residents didn’t want music trash spoiling the neighborhood!”

“Probably because of the fans,” Lainey guessed. Her recent experience with Beatles fans was still fresh in her mind.

“I’ve started looking at the other end of Regent’s Park. It’s nice, you know, looking inside all the beautiful houses. Fancy coming along with me sometime?”

Lainey caught her breath. “That would be marvelous…I’d like that.” She would love that actually, to see inside some of the mansions they’d driven past on her way from St. John’s Wood to Kensington. What a thrill that would be.

“I’m also looking at a sheep farm in Kintyre, Scotland. In the middle of nowhere, really. What would you think of that?”

The waiter arrived with a new pot of coffee before Lainey could respond. And then a group of Canadian college students spied Paul and made a beeline for their table, buzzing with excitement as they pulled out cameras and travel brochures for Paul to sign. It wasn’t long before Paul decided they should head back to their villa before he caused any more chaos.

 

That afternoon Lainey sat in the sun on the private terrace beneath the bathroom window and listened to her lover compose “The Night Before” from beginning to end, her sketchpad open in her lap but her pencil still as she marveled at the magic happening around her.

Later that night they sat in chairs on that terrace beneath blankets, discussing music and poetry and films they'd seen, sipping wine from the bottle and stargazing, until Lainey ended up straddling his lap and gazing only at Paul. He'd slid his hand between them and stroked her until she lost herself in the moment, in him. Then he picked her up with her legs wrapped around his waist and carried her into the villa for more.

Three days in the sun and three nights in their little villa. Lainey realized she had never had such amazing sex as she had in this little Portuguese resort town. The sea, the sun, the man...it was Paradise.

Alas, Paradise had an expiration date, and on Thursday Paul was due back to begin a run of twenty Christmas shows with scarcely a night off. They had one more day together in Paradise. And then Lainey had to go and open her mouth and blow it all sky high.


	34. Stop This Train

Paul sat alone on the terrace fiddling around with the guitar as dawn broke, silently mocking himself that he was writing a song about love while the most beautiful girl in the world was curled up in bed in the room behind him.

He gave himself a challenge: one more verse and he’d reward his brilliance by crawling back into bed with her to finish what they’d started the night before, the horizontal samba they’d been perfecting the past couple of days.

He felt himself stirring to life, growing hard again just thinking of the way she would smell, the way she would feel, her body soft and pliant beneath him.

The sun, the sea, the sex, this woman… He’d written three songs for the new LP in two days. Good songs, in fact. He couldn’t wait to play them for John, to see if there was anything more he could add. Being here with her had opened him up, stirred his creative juices, without benefit of alcohol or grass. Away from the rat race of his life he hadn’t felt the need to have his senses dulled.

It had been nice to detach from life for a bit. Even when they were walking through town and he was being recognized, he felt like he was letting the chaos happen around him for a change, instead of inside him.

He’d been more relaxed these past few days than he’d been in months, and Lainey had been amazing. He never grew tired of her. Hell, he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

Unfortunately for him and his creativity, their little interlude in the sun was drawing to a close. He took the pencil from behind his ear and scrawled another phrase in the notebook.

Back in the room, he crawled into bed behind her, her back to his chest, his arm snaking around her waist, moving under the little silky shirt she wore to squeeze her breast.

“What are you doing?” she pretended to complain, pushing his hand away. “Can’t we ever sleep?” He knew she was pretending, because she wriggled her perfect little heart-shaped ass against him and made that little moaning sound that drove him crackers. He was immediately and fully aroused. He licked the back of her neck and she gasped and turned in his arms.

“Hey you,” he said, smiling at her.

“Hey,” she said, burrowing her face against his shoulder and pushing a lovely long leg between both of his.

He ran his fingers through her soft curls and blew out a sigh.

“What is it?” she asked.

And then he couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Things are going to get crazy when we get back. Only two days off for Christmas and Boxing Day, then twenty nights of Christmas shows, two shows a night, and we have to have another LP recorded for the movie. Another dozen songs.”

“Well that sucks,” she said, rubbing his arm from shoulder to elbow. “No wonder you wanted to get away.”

“Yeah, it’s a drag. But this…” He shifted a little, so he could watch her reaction. “This has been amazing, and good for me, and good for my writing, and I don’t want it to stop.”

She blinked, her brows drawing together in an adorable picture of sleepy confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Lainey, I want you to stay. I want us to move forward with this.”

She rolled away from him, buried her face in the pillow and groaned.

“What kind of answer is that?” he demanded, feeling more than a little miffed. What the fuck? Any normal bird would be thrilled that he was asking her to stay with him. What was with this girl?

She rose onto her knees, pushed her hair back and looked around the room as if she’d never seen it before. “Shit. I just woke up, I need to pee and I need some water.”

“Fine. Christ. Forgive me for interrupting your slumber to talk about our future.” He pulled back the covers so she could climb over him. “Go already.”

This girl. He’d poured his heart out to her and she had him cooling his heels, high and dry and alone in bed while she faffed around in the loo, running water, opening and closing drawers, moving bottles of lotion or some shit around. What the hell was she doing in there? It was mind boggling why this woman wouldn’t want to be out here with him, lying here in his arms, talking about building a life together.

He was practically nodding off by the time she returned from the bathroom, clutching a glass of water with a determined look on her face. She sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him.

“Okay. My grandma wants two things from us. I made her two promises.”

“All right,” he said. He turned toward her, reaching his arm across her lap, squeezing her waist. Wondering why she wouldn’t look at him. “Go on,” he prompted.

“She wants me to wait until I’ve graduated.”

All right. That was understandable. “When is that, May?”

“Yes, early May, and everyone has always expected me to try for an internship in Europe after that, so they’ve been expecting me to leave…”

“Five months then. That’s doable.”

She sighed. “There’s one other thing. I promised her I wouldn’t stay here with you until you stop touring.”

He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed so suddenly her water sloshed down her shirt. “Fucking hell. When is that?”

Lainey winced at the tone of his voice. She set the glass on the table and wiped at her shirt. “Your last world tour is summer 1966.”

He leaped to his feet. “No, Lainey. I’m not waiting another year and a half for us to be together. Bloody hell.”

And then he was pacing around the room, scraping his hand through his hair. Was she serious? Did she really expect him to wait another 18 months? He stopped in front of her and pointed a finger in her face. “That’s ludicrous.”

She pushed his finger out of her face. “We can still see each other, you know, she just believes we don’t have a shot of things working out with you on the road all the time, and honestly, part of me agrees with her.”

He backed away from her, feeling spent, exhausted. Part of him wished he'd never met her. A part of him withered at the thought of the two of them continuing in this quagmire of indecision for even a day longer. It was absurd. Birds were everywhere, he didn't have to make any effort at all to pull a girl now that he was famous. Hell, all he had to do was walk into a club and birds would flock to the table and simulate strip tease dances in front of his eyes. Each of them vying to be the one to come home with him. All he had to do was rest his eyes on the one he fancied, lift a beckoning finger and the girl was his, for as long as he wanted.

But not this one. Why was this impossible slip of a girl the one he had to have?

He shook his head in disbelief and rubbed at the pinch in his chest. “You’re saying you want to wait another two years to be with me?”

“My grandmother has a point. I don’t know if we could make it while you’re still touring.”

The sound of her soft voice, her reasonable tone as she calmly explained why she didn’t want to be with him, made him feel like his brain was going to explode.

“Oh yeah? Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. I never imagined you to be so bloody selfish!” He watched her mouth fall open at the sound of the harsh words.

He’d never shouted at her, but right now he wanted to do a lot more than shout. He yanked on a pair of jeans, grabbed a shirt and slammed out of the room before he gave into the urge to wrap his hands around her pretty neck and throttle her.

He stood on the beach at low tide as the sky turned from navy blue to magenta, methodically picking up pieces of driftwood and slinging them back out to sea, one after the other, as hard as he could, and wishing he’d never laid eyes on Lainey Spencer.

It was ludicrous to think they had any chance in hell of making this work. Only teenaged girls and clueless numpty heads believed that all you need is love.

He tossed a shell in the direction of a sea gull that strayed too close. The gull screamed and wheeled away on a salty breeze. “That’s right, fly away, you lucky bastard.”

“Hey,” Lainey said, coming up behind him and startling him.

His head snapped around, his gaze swept over her, and he threw the piece of driftwood he was holding into the sea and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

“Why are you even here, Lainey, if you don’t believe we can make it? Do you even love me, or are you just here for the sex?”

She looked properly mystified. “What? What are you saying?”

“You just want to say you made it with someone famous?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. Her brows drew together in anger, and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far, if she’d suddenly whip out her little magic phone and disappear on him again and that would be that. But then she seemed to wilt a little in front of his eyes.

“Oh, Paul. Of course I love you.” She closed the distance between them, gathering the fabric of his T-shirt in her fists. “You crazy loon. I don’t care if you’re famous or not famous. But I damn well like the sex too.”

She pressed herself against him, her soft, full breasts flattening against his chest, and his arms went automatically around her, his body already responding to the feel of her. Bloody hell. There was no way he could stay angry at this girl.

“It just seems so impossible sometimes,” she whispered.

“À cœur vaillant rien d’impossible.”

She lifted her head and stared at him.

“It’s French.”

“I know what it is, what does it mean?”

“Nothing is impossible for a willing heart.”

A shiver raced through her and he wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “Am I wrong in believing we make each other happy?”

“You’re not wrong,” she whispered against his neck. “You’re not wrong at all. But it’s a fantasy. We don’t know if it would ever work, the two of us.”

“No one ever knows if it will work,” he argued. “But I’m completely myself with you. I don’t have to try to be something I’m not. We just click. It’s like my soul saw you and sighed and said, ah, there it is. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Are you saying you believe in soulmates?”

“I’m saying I believe in the feelings I have for you.”

“Can we go back to the room and talk about this?” she said, shivering again in his arms.

“There’s nothing to talk about really,” he said, but he slid his hands down her arms, laced their fingers together and began to walk in the direction of the villa. “I mean, if you want to take another two years before you’re ready to commit to me, I can’t really do a bloody thing about it, can I?”

Her head was down, and she clutched onto his arm, stumbling a little through the sand as she tried to keep up with his long strides, her breast bouncing against his arm, making him want to stop everything and throw her down in the sand right here and shove her sexy little sheer dress over her head and plunge himself inside her, punish her for making him want her so much.

“Can you give me just a little more time to think about it?” she asked softly beside him. “Until Graduation? Or maybe Spring Break? I have a week off in March.”

His heart clenched at the tiny break in her voice, the rest of his anger dissipating. He knew he was asking a lot of this girl. His life was like a speeding train with no brakes, with no hope of getting off and going home again, no hope of ever stopping it, and he was asking her to leave everyone she loved behind to jump aboard and speed along with him into the unknown.

“I don't know where I'll be in March. Probably filming somewhere. Can you find me?”

“I can figure out where you are, yes.”

They reached the villa, and Paul punched in the code and stood back to let the gate swing open.

“That's two months,” he said. “Plenty of time for you to tell Marie how ridiculous she's being.” He held out his hand, wiggled his fingers. “Give me the ring. I'll have another go at making Marie see reason.”

Just as he expected, she closed her fist protectively around the ring. “I'll talk to her.”

He dropped her hand to unlock their door. “It’s not really about Marie anyway. Because you agree with her. You don’t trust this…you don’t trust me…enough to stay here with me.”

“Paul. Be reasonable. I’ve only known you for five months. We’ve spent maybe four weeks together. I’m just asking for a few more months to figure out the rest of my life…”

He didn’t answer her bullshit excuse. He went straight to the terrace and pushed open the sliding door, shoving it closed behind him, Then he began fishing around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for and lit up a joint.

His eyes fell on his open notebook, and he ripped out a page and wadded it up, tossing it into the garden. He took in a long track of his joint, noticing her on the exhale, standing in the doorway frowning at him. “What?” he demanded.

“Why did you throw away that song?”

“Because the lyrics sucked, to use one of your Americanisms. It was a silly love song and it sucked.”

When she didn’t answer he brought the joint back to his mouth and took another hit. “You’re making me nervous. Not to mention ruining my high.”

She held out her hand, smiling softly. “Come back to bed, baby. You haven’t slept in days.”

He glanced at her. “Tell me one I haven’t heard.” He took another hit of his joint. When he was finished he offered it to Lainey but she waved it off. He licked his fingers and pinched the end of the joint and put it back in his pocket.

Turning toward the patch of turquoise ocean in the distance, he closed his eyes, enjoying the wind on his face, and trying to figure out what to do about this girl and the last few days they had together.

He wanted to keep her with him as long as he could, take her home with him for Christmas with Dad and Mike, but the logistics of it all seemed so impossible. There would be reporters in front of his dad's house, watching his every move, wanting to know who the girl was who meant enough to him that he was bringing her home to his family for Christmas. Microphones and cameras in their faces, and endless questions.

If he were honest with himself, it was part of the reason he'd flown them away from London, to keep her out of the spotlight. She had no idea what his life was like now. It would likely scare her half to death.

They'd have to weather the press at some point. But not yet, not until he had her convinced that she belonged here with him.

“I couldn’t stop this train now, even if I wanted to,” he said softly.

“Either your high is setting in or you’re just very introspective,” Lainey said from the doorway.

He turned to her, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe I’m high on love.”

She shook her head. “Don’t say something you’re going to be mad about. You know how you get.”

He sighed heavenward, then in spite of himself, he started to grin. He opened his arms. She walked willingly into his hug. He curved his hand around the back of her neck, his mind already spinning ahead to the delightfully dirty, messy things he wanted to do to her until they both collapsed sweaty and naked on the floor.

If they only had a few hours left together, he was going to show Lainey Spencer just what she’d be giving up by walking away.


	35. Honey Pie

It was the opening night of the Beatles Christmas Show, and as the cinema rapidly filled with ticket holders, Lainey could feel the excitement all down her spine. She was whisked from the ticket window through a crowd of mostly teenaged girls, dressed in their Christmas best and buzzing with anticipation. She had taken pains with her own outfit to not look too out of place in 1964, choosing a red and black plaid skirt and figure hugging thin black sweater covered with a short leather jacket. She paired it with black tights and boots and left her hair in loose curls around her shoulders. Neil cleared the way past security checkpoints and Lainey took a few deep, calming breaths as she drew closer to the one who inevitably made her heart beat triple time.

The moment she saw him in his dark blue mohair suit, white shirt and dark tie, standing there in all his magnificence, she was stunned again by his beauty.

In his boots, Paul was a good six inches taller than she was, giving her a perfect view of his perfect lips, making her want to lean in and kiss him. In front of everyone, the way they'd kissed for the past week, the way they’d kissed goodbye just that morning when he’d left for the final rehearsal.

“You look simply amazing,” Paul said, grinning and handing her a glass of something that smelled like whiskey.

“You look like the fantasy lover I had when I was sixteen,” Lainey said, giggling. She was grinning so wide her cheeks were starting to hurt.

Paul hooked an arm around her waist and drew her close. “Now you tell me, when I can’t do a thing about it,” he whispered next to her ear. A chaste kiss on the cheek and he released her.

“We’re in the middle of interviews, but Mo is here, you remember Mo?” he said, pointing.

Lainey’s gaze fell on Ringo’s adorable brunette girlfriend just as she popped up from a leather sofa and came toward her with a beatific smile and an outstretched hand. “All right?” she said in greeting.

Lainey took her hand and pulled her in for an affectionate hug, being careful not to splash whiskey on the two of them. “Maureen! I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Ditto! Come and sit, girl, and tell me how you’ve been going!”

They sat together in a corner of the room, next to a stack of autograph books to be signed, half listening to the Beatles compete with each other to give the silliest answers to silly questions from the Press. Fans were brought back for photos and autographs, and other musicians wandered around the room, tuning instruments and primping in front of a long wall of mirrors, while Lainey and Maureen caught up on each other’s lives.

Lainey bemoaned the fact that she hadn’t gotten together with Maureen earlier. For the past three days she’d wandered the streets of London alone while Paul spent mornings in the studio and long afternoons rehearsing the Christmas show. She’d window-shopped and strolled through Hyde Park, people watching and day dreaming, all the while wondering if she could actually make 1960s London her home some day. She’d used the money Paul left to buy groceries, and he’d come back to the townhouse each night to a fragrant stew simmering on the stove and Lainey greeting him at the door holding a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows, which always made him laugh.

“I love your boots!” Maureen enthused, calling Lainey’s attention back to the dressing room and the present.

“They’re from Paul,” Lainey stuck her feet straight out in front of her, wiggling her toes happily. Genuine Beatles boots from Anello and Davide, a Christmas present from Paul that had thrilled her to her toes. She surreptitiously checked Maureen’s left hand. No ring yet, but she was pretty sure she and Ringo would be engaged soon. “What about you?” Lainey teased. “Does Ritchie know your ring size for Christmas?”

Maureen blushed adorably. “I dunno, we haven’t opened our gifts yet.”

Lainey’s hand went automatically to the new necklace she wore, a silver pendant etched with the words “forever yours” inside a heart. Another gift from Paul. He was a good gift giver. He was good at everything he set his mind to.

He'd seemed to love her gift too—a handmade maroon velvet jacket with covered buttons that screamed “Swinging Sixties” and set off his dark glossy hair perfectly. It had taken most of the past month to finish, and Lainey had to start over twice when she wasn’t pleased with the results, but it had given her hands something to do while her brain was missing Paul.

“It’s very avant garde,” Paul had proclaimed, when he tried the jacket on and checked his reflection in the mirror. "A perfect fit," he'd said, "just like you." He’d kissed her so thoroughly and completely that it was a wonder she hadn’t floated up into the clouds with him. Then he'd slung her over his red velvet shoulder, dropped her on the bed, and proceeded to illustrate just what a perfect fit they were.

“Hello Lainey dear. All right?” Lainey shook herself out of her reverie and looked up into the profound deep brown eyes of George Harrison.

“I’m great, George, how are you?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Merry Christmas to you and Pattie!” she said with a grin.

George arched a surprised brow and asked her a question that was lost to her when the dressing room door opened, letting in a volley of screams.

“I forgot how loud they can be,” Lainey remarked.

“They paid money though, didn’t they?” George said, matter-of-factly. “If they hadn’t paid and they were screaming, it’d be a liberty, wouldn’t it?”

George’s attention wandered around the room. He reached for a guitar propped against the wall next to Maureen. “See you two. Enjoy the show.”

Lainey watched him walk toward a young man sitting by himself with his head bent over a guitar. The tousled-haired man looked up and nodded as George approached.

“Holy crap, that looks like a really young Eric Clapton!” Lainey blurted out.

Maureen followed her gaze. “I dunno, I think he’s the new guitarist with the Yardbirds.”

“The Yardbirds…” Lainey peered more closely at the random musicians milling about the room.

“Jimmy Page? Oh my hell, what is this magic? My dad would kill to be here right now.”

“Hey Mo. Can I see my girl for a tick?” Paul was standing in front of them, smiling and holding out his hand.

Lainey abandoned her half empty glass of whiskey and cast one last look of wonder toward Eric Clapton before letting Paul lead her down a narrow backstage corridor and into a small anteroom where an old upright piano stood waiting to be played. He pulled out the bench, wriggled out of his jacket and draped it across Lainey’s knees. Every piano called to him, it seemed. He couldn’t pass one by without stopping to play and sing random tunes as they popped into his head.

This had quickly become one of her favorite pastimes, one that they reenacted every night in the townhouse in front of a window overlooking a cold and dreary Hyde Park. Squeezed beside him at the piano, her face wreathed in a smile, Lainey committed every detail to memory so she could practically paint a portrait from her mind’s eye: Paul’s boyish heart shaped face, the puppy soulfulness of his big beautiful eyes, arched eyebrows that always seemed to be questioning her, the impish exuberance of the smile on that perfect pouty mouth that was wonderful to kiss, the lightness and purity of his voice as he sang to her.

She patted the rhythm on her lap as Paul began playing an old-timey, music hall piece that Lainey recognized the moment he began to sing.

 _“Lainey love_  
_You are making me crazy_  
_I'm in love but I'm lazy_  
_So won't you come back home”_

“I know this one!” Lainey exclaimed.

“You couldn’t possibly,” Paul said. “I’ve been kicking it around for a bit but it’s not a Beatles song. If we ever recorded it, I’d do it up like something my dear old Dad would have done back in his day with Jim Mac’s Jazz Band.” With a flourish of chords and musical trills, he began to sing another verse.

 _“Lainey love_  
_My position is tragic_  
_Come and show me the magic_  
_Of your rainbow song”_

“That’s Honey Pie!”

"Pardon?"

"That song is called Honey Pie."

He nudged her with his shoulder, all flirtatious and sexy. ”No, dear. I wrote it, you see, and the working title is “Lainey Love."

Lainey nudged him back. "Well, dear, my dad owns the White Album, you see, and it's Honey Pie."

"As you wish.” He winked at her and continued to sing.

 _“Honey Pie_  
_I'm in love but I’m frantic—"_

At that point Lainey joined in, slightly off key.

 _“Sail across the Atlantic_  
_To be where you belong.”_

“There, you see? We've already changed history, since I wrote this song for you and you somehow know the words!”

Lainey was about to answer when she felt strong hands squeezing her shoulders and tilted her head back to see John Lennon peering down his nose at her.

“What is this rubbish you’re doing?”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lainey said, grinning up at him. “Merry Christmas, John!”

“Happy Crimble,” John said. “Will you be here for the rest of the festering?”

“The what?”

“Festivities,” Paul translated. He continued playing the piano, music hall style. “I envision this piece with saxophone and clarinet.”

“I’m not sure about the festivities,” Lainey said, but John wasn’t listening. He was frowning at Paul.

“No one’s recording that rubbish.”

Paul continued blithely on. “I’d even add crackles to the recording, to make it sound like an old 78 rpm record.”

John lit a cigarette. “You must be bloody daft.”

Paul responded by playing louder and vamping it up with the lyrics.

“I like this kind of music, yeah,” Paul sang.

“Twenty minutes,” Neil shouted from the doorway, and Paul wrapped up the song with a flourish.

“Must go comb me hair,” Paul said, hooking an arm around Lainey’s waist. She walked down the narrow hallway behind the stage, wedged between Paul McCartney and John Lennon, with Eric Clapton’s wicked guitar riff barely audible above the screams from the audience. Could this really be her life?

Back in the dressing room she perched on a stool and watched Paul primp for the stage, combing his hair, straightening his tie, checking his cuff links. Maybe he’d leave the suit on after the show, she hoped, and let her be the one to loosen that tie and slide that perfectly tailored Saville Row jacket off his shoulders, unhook that belt and…

“Like the new suit?” he asked, the smug look on his face telling her he knew the path her thoughts had been traveling. He was hot and he knew it. She couldn’t help ogling him, and he knew that too.

“I was just admiring the fabric and cut,” Lainey said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. _And thinking how good that suit will look draped across the foot of the bed tonight_ , she added silently.

“Are Beatles autographs worth anything in 2012?” Paul asked suddenly.

She snorted a laugh. “You're kidding right? All four Beatles autographs could go for 10 thousand and up on eBay.”

“Cor, why do we bother making music and films. We should just sell our signatures.”

He flipped through a stack of promotional Christmas photos, autographed by all four Beatles. “Have a couple of these photos so you'll have the means to meet me on your Spring break, wherever we are. Will you do that?”

“You don't have to pay for my travel. I have a job,” she huffed.

Paul grasped her hand, looking deeply into her eyes. “I know, love, you're a feisty, independent little American vixen, and that's a huge turn on for me. But let me do this. It will be my Valentine present to you.”

Lainey looked at the photographs, hesitating. “You want me to sell these and fly to wherever you are the first week of March?”

“Yes, will you do that?”

“Okay. I will.” She stood and carefully slid the autographed photos into her shoulder bag. They must be worth a fortune in 2012, and once the autographs were certified, they would generate enough money to fly halfway around the world and back, and then some.

“Ten minutes!” Neil announced.

The room buzzed with energy and intensity as the Beatles readied themselves for their first Christmas show of the season. Lainey felt a little buzzed herself. Butterflies tickled her stomach in anticipation at the thought of seeing them on stage again.

“We have to take our leave of you. As soon as the show is over I'll be rushing to the airport,” Paul was saying, and she frowned up at him, not quite understanding.

“What do you mean? You're leaving?”

“I only have one day in Liverpool,” Paul explained. “Mal will take you to the train station, or wherever you need to be, and I’ll see you very soon, in March.”

“We're saying goodbye now?” Lainey shook her head, confused. “But…I thought we would have more time...I thought we would have tonight at least. It’s Christmas Eve!”

Paul straightened his collar and met her eyes in the mirror, dropping the corners of his mouth into a frown.

“I'm sorry babe, I really am, but if you came to Liverpool the way things are now the press would be all over us. I'd rather not be answering questions about you until you're here for good and mine for keeps. Know what I mean?”

Lainey nodded automatically, then shook her head no. “You’re leaving right after the show?” She was suddenly nauseous. They were saying goodbye _now?_ She’d come all this way and she wasn’t even spending Christmas Day with him?

“I have a plane to catch, and I have to be smuggled out to beat the crowds.” He turned from the mirror to face her. “Don’t look sad, love. You know what me dad always says. ‘What's for ye’ll not go past ye’.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes rolled to the ceiling, as if he would find inspiration there to explain things to her in the last few seconds they had together.

“You know I love you, Rainbow,” he said, pulling her into a hug.

“I love you too,” she said into his shoulder.

“And we'll be together soon.”

“Why can't I wait here for you to get back from having Christmas with your dad?”

He leaned back, looking deep into her eyes as if willing her to understand. “My life's about to get crazy again. Two shows a night through most of January, working on the new songs for the film during the day. That's why I took you to Portugal, so we could have a bit of a break together before the madness began."

“Won't it be that way in May, when you want me to move here? Shouldn't I get used to it…” She let her voice trail off, a little ashamed of herself for practically begging him to let her stay when he clearly had other ideas. It was impossible to discuss something like this in the dressing room surrounded by a dozen other people. And he was already in Beatle Paul mode, his mind on the performance to come.

The door opened, and screams from the amped up crowd drowned everything out while the Yardbirds raced into the dressing room, flushed and sweaty from their performance.

"We'll talk about it when next we meet. We'll make plans. I’ll see you in only two months.” 

He was practically shouting to be heard over the chants of the crowd: _We Want the Beatles!_

He pointed a finger at her. “Talk to your family about moving here. About us. Do what you need to do."

Lainey reached up to brush a piece of lint from his shoulder. “Maybe I could…” she started to say, but he dropped a quick kiss on her mouth and with an apologetic smile he was dashing away from her. No longer her boyfriend, but Beatle Paul, who belonged to all the girls of England.

***********************************

In the darkness at the side of the stage, Lainey stands next to Maureen while the Beatles final tuning adjustments are drowned out by the roar of the audience. She watches with hands clasped and eyes wide, not wanting to miss a single thing.

In front of the curtain, the compere shouts an introduction, and there is a snatch of the warm, jangly sound of John’s Rickenbacker before the curtains whoosh open and there is nothing but a solid wall of noise.

Paul is at the microphone, teeth gleaming, eyes twinkling, saying something that can’t be heard over the screams. He tries again, laughs and shrugs and turns to Ringo and makes a spooling gesture. And they’re off.

They open with “She’s a Woman,” with Paul imitating the screaming rock vocal style of Little Richard in a register that sounds almost too high even for Paul’s tenor range. The melody is carried mostly by his voice, with the bass and backing guitars providing a countermelody. George plays a bright guitar solo during the middle eight, and they finish with an extended outro that Lainey has never heard before.

It makes her realize how amazing it is to be here, hearing the music she has loved since she was a little girl performed live in front of her eyes by someone she has fallen in love with, and she wishes the night could last forever.

During the song it’s just possible to hear the music over the noise of the crowd, but then the song ends, down go four heads in a synchronized bow, and up come the hysterical screams.

Then there’s John singing “I’m a Loser,” which Lainey recognizes as one of the first Beatles compositions that goes beyond describing young love. It’s an introspective song with a folk and country feel about the hypocrisy of keeping up a happy face when your world’s falling down.

Hair flopping, guitars waving, girls screaming, they segue into “Everybody’s Trying to Be My Baby.” George at the microphone, tall and lean and handsome, stomping a boot-clad foot on the fourth beat of every measure, John leaning forward and surveying the audience, knees bent, guitar high, Ringo at the back bashing away, Paul handsome, cheerful and flirty with the crowd, the perfect showman, clearly in his element.

The audience goes wild when John and Paul share a microphone so they can hear each other, guitars pointed at the crowd, heads almost touching as they duet on “Baby’s in Black,” a bluesy love lament for a grieving girl. Paul had told her once that when a singer is individually mic’d, he will listen to himself instead of the other singers. When John and Paul share a mic, it changes how they listen…to the room, the other singers, the blend, the pitch. “Air mixes better than any console,” Paul had said. Better performance, visually compelling, and the girls can focus on both of them at once. The crowd is hysterical.

Ringo sings “Honey Don’t,” followed by John singing “A Hard Day’s Night” and their latest hit “I Feel Fine.” John drops a lyric and fumbles his way back to a semblance of the original phrase. He and his bandmates catch eyes, smiling a little at the error. They’re having a ball, laughing. Paul with his vocal tone that makes him sound like he is smiling if not laughing, and John with his almost-rasping melancholy. Together they’re infectious.

And then Paul launches into “Long Tall Sally” with his electrifying, vocal-cord shredding rock voice, his joy permeating through in his voice and his phrasing, the only serious challenge to Little Richard’s ownership of this song ever attempted.

Mal and Neil and a phalanx of policemen stand at the ready. The show is wrapping up, and Lainey waits in the darkness with a sweet teenager from Liverpool, marveling at the irresistibly singable songs she’s just heard, reveling in their craft, polish, complexity, uncanny sense of melody and harmonics, the relentless creativity. These four young men produce an alchemy that is simply like nothing else in the history of popular music, and it is still only the beginning for them.

The song is over, and before the last note fades away, Neil is shoving Maureen and Lainey to one side, clearing a path so the Beatles can stampede their way off the stage to safety.

Paul loops an arm around Lainey’s neck as he careens by, dragging her awkwardly down the stairs. It’s chaos. She’s jostled along in a pack of sweaty, glowing Beatles, with Neil shouting to be heard above the screams, directing their exit.

A policeman yanks at her, hard, possibly mistaking her for an overzealous fan. Lainey screams and Paul lets go. As if in slow motion, Paul reaches back for her in a futile gesture. It’s surreal—the deafening screams and her lover’s mouth is moving but she can’t hear a word he’s saying as he’s swept away from her.

“Let go of me!” Lainey yells at the policeman, trying to wriggle away from his grasp to make out whatever it is Paul wants to tell her as he’s shoved through the door into a throng of reporters and fans yelling and waving with flashbulbs popping.

“I have a backstage pass on, are you blind?” Lainey screams at the officer who is manhandling her.

The officer finally sets her down and Lainey wants to claw at him for keeping her from saying goodbye to the man she loves. The man who loves her. But it’s no use. The door closes on the chaos outside, Lainey is inside with a cinema full of screaming teenagers, and Paul is already gone.


	36. Help! I Need Somebody!

Mal Evans had driven Lainey to Paul’s dark, empty flat so she could collect the few possessions she traveled with and stuff them into her backpack. She held back tears all the way to the train station, then made her way to the phone box near Abbey Road, stunned and unhappy with the way her Christmas week with Paul had ended.

The thrill of seeing the Beatles live in concert was fading, and Lainey was left feeling like she’d been ambushed.

So much felt wrong about the way Paul had said goodbye to her. She hadn’t even known they were saying goodbye until moments before he ran onstage. And he’d basically given her an ultimatum. He said he didn’t want the Fleet Street press to find out about her unless she was willing to stay with him permanently in his world. In other words, time to fish or cut bait.

The first sign of trouble in Paradise had been the way Paul had stormed out of the room when she told him her grandmother wanted her to wait until he stopped touring in 1966 to make any permanent decision. Then, without any other discussion on the subject, the last words he’d said to her in London were “Talk to your family about moving here. Do what you need to do.”

As if time traveling to 1964 and building a life there was as simple as moving across town. He’d said this as he was dashing out of the dressing room to take the stage, so there was no chance for Lainey to do anything but gape at him. He was manipulating her, trying to control her, and it made her want to perversely do just the opposite of what he wanted.

She arrived back in 2012 irritated with Paul and confused about her future. But it was Christmas week, and she had no choice but to push her relationship worries to the back of her mind and concentrate on enjoying the holidays in London with her family.

 

After a week in London with her brother Matt and their mom, Grandma Marie had a Christmas surprise for Lainey: two train tickets from London to Paris and two nights at a hotel near the Triangle D’Or. It was the best possible location to visit a majority of design headquarters and flagship stores. It was the holiday of her dreams.

They spent their first day in Paris in the art museums, the second day they visited monuments and enjoyed the sparkling holiday fairy light displays, and on their final morning Grandma Marie took a floral arrangement class at the hotel while Lainey set out to explore the high fashion couture houses in the Champs-Elysees district.

The stores themselves were beautifully designed, as much a part of the attraction as the clothing. Made of marble and silver, exuding luxury, some with entire floors devoted to shoes, or evening gowns. Lainey pictured herself living in a tiny postage stamp sized apartment, learning her way around the city, exploring the winding, whimsical streets on foot, spending her weekends window shopping and trolling the stunning art museums, immersing herself in thousands of years of history, art and architecture. An internship in Paris would be the dream of a lifetime.

She waited for an hour to take a tour at the headquarters of Christian Dior, inside an 18th century mansion with a winding staircase lined with black-and-white photographs of stars wearing Dior designs.

An embroidered strapless dress that Nicole Kidman wore to the Cannes Film Festival was displayed in an alcove, and the princess gown that Jennifer Lawrence tripped in when she won the Oscar for Best Actress last year was featured on another staircase.

To Lainey’s delight she was allowed to handle several garments and examine the fine lace and trim, custom embroideries and hand stitching. A tour guide turned a Baby Dior christening gown inside out to show the extensive handiwork that is rarely seen. “Dior wanted the inside to be as beautiful as the outside,” the guide explained.

In another area, workers painstakingly embroidered circles for a sequined evening gown. The guide said it would take 600 hours to embroider the circles in a single dress.

Lainey knew from her classes that haute couture garments rarely have any machine stitching. Everything is hand sewn, hand embroidered and the fabric is often hand painted. A haute couture garment really is a work of art, and being surrounded by these designs had the creative side of her brain working overtime. She couldn't wait to get somewhere quiet and sketch.

 

An hour later Lainey was seated at the window of a quaint bookstore/coffee shop off the Avenue Champs-Elysees, sketching random passersby, when she noticed a rather exotic looking bearded man in line buying a book. He completed his purchase, turned around, and dropped the book on her table. “This is a good one,” he said in French. “I think you’ll really like it.” Then he took a seat at a table on the other side of the room.

After a brief moment of shock, she opened the book and noticed a small note inside that read: “I have never seen you here before. This place is much brighter and warmer with you in it.”

At least that’s what Lainey thought it said. She needed to enroll in an intensive French language program. STAT.

The book was “Way of the Peaceful Warrior” and Lainey was impressed. She looked up and smiled at him to show her thanks.

His name was Henri, and he was writing a book about Hemingway in Paris. In English, they made small talk about Paris and art and writing. It turned out Henri was close friends with the Director of Christian Lacroix’ Haute Couture Salon. They exchanged email addresses, and he offered to forward Lainey’s resume to his friend.

“I hope to see you back,” Henri said with a genuine smile. “I would buy a book here every day if I knew a young woman as beautiful as you would be in the room.”

Later that afternoon Lainey met a dressmaker named Simone when she popped into a store to ask for directions, and the conversation naturally turned to fashion. In halting English, because Lainey’s French wasn’t doing the job, Simone gave Lainey tips on what fashion houses might be predisposed to hire an American intern.

Simone encouraged Lainey to take an intensive French course right away and translate her resume into French. She graciously agreed to revise Lainey’s resume both culturally and grammatically and email it back to her.

Her third day in Paris, and Lainey had two potential contacts! She practically skipped back to the hotel with a very good feeling about the day. Maybe the universe was conspiring to bring her to Paris after graduation!

There was a lot to consider, though. If she was lucky enough to find an internship at a fashion house at her experience level, it would almost certainly be unpaid. Her first problem was how to get in the door. Her next problem would be how to afford to live in Paris while working for six months unpaid.

Those few days in Paris were exciting, thrilling, and exactly what she needed after the disappointing way her visit with Paul had ended. It wasn’t until she was on her way home that Lainey had time to think about him again. Held captive in an aluminum tube zipping along miles above Earth with nothing to do but reflect, with her grandmother dozing beside her, Lainey realized Grandma Marie hadn’t said another word about Paul on their entire trip. She hadn’t tried to talk her out of loving him, hadn’t chastened her for dreaming about someone she could never have. She had simply shown Lainey what her life could be like if she stayed focused and concentrated on making her own dreams come true.

 

As soon as Lainey got back home, she was distracted with designing and sewing garments for the Senior Fashion show and with writing her Senior thesis: “The Impact of the Swinging Sixties in London.” _Naturellement._ She enrolled in a six week intensive French class and worked as many hours as possible in the record store, trying to save every penny she could for Paris.

Simone, her new dressmaker friend in Paris, had kept her promise to help Lainey with her French resume, and soon Lainey was sending inquiries to all the fashion houses in the city regarding an internship.

Her own life was getting chaotic, and there was very little time to think about Paul. The problem was, no matter how busy her life became, her heart still ached for that brown eyed handsome boy of her dreams, and she had a feeling it always would.

In the midst of this whirlwind, there was the matter of having the autographed photograph of the Beatles certified and listed at auction. It quickly sold. Lainey had promised Paul she would join him on Spring Break, and even though her head was undecided where he was concerned, her heart was all in, and the thought of seeing him again was irresistible.

It took only three seconds using her iPad to discover where the Beatles stayed during the first week of March, 1965. The Balmoral Club, Cable Beach, Nassau, the Bahamas. Easy as pie. Duck soup, as Paul would say.

If only the decision of what to do about Paul and her future were so simple…

 

*****************************

 

Nassau, March 1965

Finding a place at the hotel to transport herself into 1965 had been tricky.

The Balmoral Club had become a Sandals resort, and Lainey had to book a pricey room just to get on the property. The beach house where the Beatles had stayed was gone, with a sprawling white tower in its place. From her fourth floor room she had realized the beach was crowded with tourists. She'd had to wait until after dark to find a spot on the beach where she wouldn’t be noticed disappearing and reappearing.

Cable Beach in 1965 was eerily dark at night, without the lights from the hotel tower that Lainey had left in 2013. To her right she heard music and laughter coming from what looked like a night club. To her left, farther down the beach, there seemed to be a set of private villas. She headed toward the houses, hoping for the best.

At 6’3 and juggling an armful of whiskey bottles, the "Beatles Shadow" Mal Evans was unmistakable even on the darkest night.

Lainey tossed him a smile as he approached on his way from the night club. “Hi Mal.”

He smiled back. "I know you."

"Can you tell Paul I'm here?"

"Sure. Come ‘ead, I’ll take ye to the lads.”

Bob Dylan music and the sweet smell of marijuana floated out an open window of a large concrete villa painted cornflower blue. There was loud laughter, a few familiar Scouse voices, and a couple of high-pitched, feminine giggles.

Mal struggled with the front door for a moment before Neil threw it open wide. “About bloody time, Mal.”

The floor was strewn with guitars. A dozen half empty wine and highball glasses gave the front room the air of a nightclub after closing time. The room was full of people. But the most striking image was her boyfriend, the love of her life, on the sofa with a deeply tanned girl in his lap. Lainey’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the girl squealing and sloshing her drink as Paul dipped her back and pretended to bite her neck.

As if in slow motion, Paul raised his head and locked eyes with Lainey. She recognized the "Oh shit!" look on his face a split second before Neil slammed the door in her face.

Lainey stumbled back onto the veranda. Ice slid into her veins, chilling every part of her. Her first instinct was to run, back to the beach, to the ocean, anywhere but here. Part of her couldn't believe he could do something to hurt her this way. But then the rational part of her chimed in.

How could she blame him for chatting up a girl? He had no way of contacting Lainey, no way of asking her to be with him when he was lonely. Their situation was impossible. But that didn’t lessen the pain of seeing another girl on his lap and having a door slammed in her face.

Hugging herself against the night air that felt suddenly cold, she turned down the path toward the beach just as the front door opened behind her.

“Hey baby! Where you going?”

There was that intense feeling she got in her stomach when she turned and saw him. Her backpack slid off her shoulder. She caught it with her hand and let it drop to the ground. She could do nothing but stare at him as he closed the distance between them. He had a glassy-eyed look and smelled faintly of marijuana. And then he was holding her, gently rocking her back and forth, speaking to her with that voice she loved, and she was ready to forgive him anything.

“Cor, I missed you, Lainey. I thought you’d never get here.”

She closed her eyes, relishing the feel and smell of him, taking comfort in his arms. He raised a gentle hand to her face and brought his soft, smooth lips to hers. He kissed her sweetly, then, burying his face in her neck, he lifted her off her feet and spun her wildly around. In seconds they were laughing like kids on a playground.

He set her down, cupping her face in his hands as he smiled at her. “There is so much I want to do with you here.”

A long shiver shook her.

His smile widened. “Come inside, love.”

He tugged her by the hand past the front room, where several Liverpool lads lounged with young women, all blonde and tanned and sixties fashion model beautiful. As Paul urged her toward a flight of stairs, Lainey regained the power of speech and pulled her hand from his. “Where are we going?”

“My room,” Paul said, as if he couldn’t believe she had to ask.

“No. We need to talk first.”

“All right then, talk.”

They were standing in the hallway, taking each other in, when Ringo emerged from the kitchen, eating from a bag of chips. He had that same glassy-eyed look as Paul. He held out the bag of chips to Lainey. “All right?”

“Thanks, I’m good.”

Paul shifted closer to Ringo to grab a handful of chips, and Lainey noticed a new gold band glinting on Ringo’s left ring finger.

“You’re married?” She couldn’t help smiling at the thought of how excited Maureen must be. So they did get engaged at Christmas after all!

“Three weeks now.”

“Is she here?” Lainey asked, her voice rising. It would actually be fantastic to see Maureen right now.

“Nah. No wives on location.”

“Oh…but it’s practically your honeymoon…”

“We’re working though,” Ringo said. He swiped up a half drunk beer from the hall table and headed for the front room.

“They’re married? That was fast,” Lainey commented.

“She’s got a bun in the oven,” Paul said, finishing his chips as he led her into the kitchen.

“She’s only 18,” Lainey said, feeling a little sad for the lovely brunette left behind in London. Married and pregnant and all alone. Welcome to life as a Beatles bride.

“Fancy a drink?”

Lainey shook her head.

He backed her up against the counter, his gaze on her lips. “What do you fancy then?”

The door swung open, and the girl from Paul’s lap stuck her head in the room. “You gonna be much longer?” she said in a strong Bronx accent.

Paul closed his eyes for a beat and sighed. When he opened them, his expression was pinched. “Carol. This is my girlfriend, Lainey. Lainey, this is Carol. She has a part in the film.”

“Oh. Charmed,” the girl said, clearly not charmed. She flicked her eyes from Paul to Lainey and back to Paul. “I’m going to bed, lover boy.”

“Cheers,” Paul said, not taking his eyes from Lainey. They continued silently staring at each other until the door swung closed and they were alone again.

"So, lover boy, not expecting me?"

"I was hopeful, but not optimistic."

"I feel that way sometimes." _Most of the time._

“Let’s go up to my room and talk.”

Lainey shook her head. _Bad idea_. As soon as he got her alone, she’d be naked in no time at all and she’d leave here in a week as confused as ever. “Is there an extra room for me tonight?” She lifted her backpack, held it in front of her chest. “Somewhere to put my things? And then maybe we could take a walk on the beach.”

His striking brown eyes narrowed. “Separate rooms, eh? Is that how you think this is going to play out?”

Lainey shrugged a shoulder, averting her eyes.

“Challenge accepted,” he said. He patted his shirt pocket, smiling down at her. “All right, love, lemme fetch my ciggies, and we’ll see what our friend Neil can do.”

They walked through exquisite gardens fragrant with hibiscus and frangipani blossoms, away from the lights of the villas, until the only sounds were their footsteps, the waves lapping at the beach, and the energetic singing of dozens of tiny tree frogs.

At the end of a wooden pier they dangled their feet in the water and lay on their backs side by side, holding hands as they looked up into the night sky, lit with sheets of unbelievably bright stars, and they talked.

They talked about life and about the past two months, about family and friends and about the future. They swapped stories, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

He told her about the songs they'd written for the new album and about the new movie. Then he listened quietly as she told him about her trip to Paris, about visiting the couture houses and how inspired she'd been. She told him about her language lessons, but left out all the parts about looking for internships. In all likelihood she wouldn't hear from any of them anyway.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Why do I feel like you have your heart set on living in Paris?”

"It's just a dream,” Lainey said. “I couldn't afford to live there anyway."

Paul stared up at the sky with a sigh. “Maybe you should go. Pour your heart into it, knock yourself out, and you'll see that living in Paris won't make you happy.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because, love, _I'm_ not in Paris.”

“You have a point there.”

“Can't you do the same thing in London in 1965?” Paul asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It would be even harder to work that out.”

“I'll put out some feelers for you.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll do it on my own.”

He squeezed her hand. “All right, Miss Independent.”

It must have been an hour of conversation before Lainey realized how bad her back hurt, lying there glancing between the night sky and Paul’s face as he spoke, all the while thinking _Is this it? Is he the one? Could we make this work?_ She loved him, that was certain. But was love enough?

On the way back to the villas, Lainey asked the question that would continue to gnaw at her until she asked him.

“Are you hooking up with that girl?”

“What girl?” He was looking up at the sky as they walked, avoiding her eyes.

“Don’t play dumb. I hate that. The one in your lap.”

“Carol?” He pulled a face. “Course not. Have you heard her bloody accent?”

“The two of you sure seemed friendly,” Lainey pressed.

“There’s nothing going on with Carol, but I will say this. You can't expect me not to date if you won't commit to staying with me, because I don't know what's going on, do I? You could be having sex on the beach with that bartender for all I know.”

“What bartender?”

“Let’s not quibble about things that haven’t even happened. You are the only girl for me.”

They reached the villa where Lainey was staying, across the garden from the rest of the group. She fished the key that Neil had given her out of her pocket and held it tightly in her fist.

At the door to her room he began kissing her hungrily. He was not pushing her in any way, but it was clear he expected more. When she made no move to open the door, he asked, “Will you invite me in for a kiss and a cuddle?”

Lainey took a deep breath. Her skin was heated, her body wanted him desperately, but her brain wouldn’t shut down. She couldn’t unsee the sight of that girl in his lap, only a few hours ago.

“I think we need a little time to think about a few things.”

There was a long pause as Paul solemnly regarded her. Then he seemed to make up his mind with a nod of his head.

“All right then. Here’s something for you to think about. Something I never told you. Something I’ve known since the day I first saw you, is that you’ll be better for me than I am for you. But I’ll never stop trying.”

Her heart was pounding like a drum. “I will. I’ll think about that. Probably all night.”

She told him goodnight, and he kept hold of her hand as she opened the door and backed into the room, stretching their arms until their fingertips had to let go, but he didn’t try to cross the threshold of her room.

Lainey held a hand to her chest, willing her heart rate to return to normal. That was one of the hardest things she’d done in a long while. Her body was still thrumming from that kiss.

She crossed to the window and lifted a curtain. Paul was looking up at her, holding his arms straight out in a universal gesture of _Why?_

She smiled and waved at him, then let the curtain drop and fell backwards onto her bed, arms over her head, staring up at the ceiling. _You’ll be better for me that I am for you_ , Paul had said. _But I’ll never stop trying._

 _That man._ That man was going to be the death of her.


	37. Wait

It was hours before Lainey slept. She lay awake most of the night, replaying every minute of her night with Paul, more confused than ever. At some point she finally drifted off, because the phone startled her awake, and she opened her eyes to morning sunlight beaming through the sheer curtains beside the bed.

“Hello?” she mumbled groggily into the phone.

“Hi baby. Want to see me before I leave for the day?”

Lainey was instantly wide awake. “Paul? I’ve never heard your voice on the phone. You sound…just like I thought you’d sound…”

“You sound like my sweet angel. Come over.”

In a matter of seconds Lainey had her teeth brushed and her hair pulled up in a messy pony tail. She threw on a white sundress with tiny yellow stars and dashed out of the room and across the gardens.

John and George were standing in the hallway, glassy-eyed and giggly, sharing a bag of corn chips.

"Hey tits! You're looking lovely today,” John loudly pronounced the minute Lainey walked through the door.

"You mustn't call her that, John," George said, frowning.

"Hey lovely! You're looking tits today," John said, even louder.

"Sshh. Stop it. You'll wake the dead." Lainey gave him a hard punch in the shoulder. “Not to mention you’re being kind of a dick.”

John grunted and shoved the bag of chips at her. He fairly reeked of marijuana. Lainey pushed the bag away. "Isn't it a little early in the morning to be eating chips and smoking weed?"

"Oh pardon me, I didn't know you changed your name to Buzz Killington.”

In spite of herself, Lainey giggled. She couldn’t believe she was actually here with all of them. George looked as somber and gorgeous as always, and John was a little heavier but as sexy as ever. And when he fastened her with that stare of his, she nearly lost her train of thought. As always.

“You both look great. How’re your families?” she asked them.

“Well we wouldn’t know, would we? Since here we are. And here they aren’t,” George said reasonably.

“We’re having a bash at another film,” John said.

“Mmm hmm. How’s that going?” Sometimes the hardest part of talking with John was trying not to giggle at everything he said.

“We don't have a title for it yet,” John said.

“Working title is Beatles 2,” said George.

“It's maddening, we must come up with something soon. George is losing his hair with worry over it,” John confided.

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something soon,” Lainey said.

John continued to fix her with his penetrating gaze. “The making of this unnamed movie is assisted by the communal use of aromatic herbs.”

“Does it help you act?”

“No it helps us to not go crackers with boredom.”

“It's a drag,” George added.

“You’re bored in the Bahamas? It’s probably snowing back home.”

“I suppose it's not so bad,” John admitted, after finishing a handful of chips. “It'll be in color and it has a storyline this time. It's a comic strip adventure.”

“Did you help write the script?” Lainey asked.

“No. We had a good try, but it was obscene. Had to be banned.”

“You must think I’m really gullible.”

“I don’t think you’re Gulliver at all, really.”

Lainey laughed. “Well, you both look like you're having a good time to me.”

“That's because we’re high, John said. “High! With an exclamation point!

“Hey, that sounds like you almost have your title!” she said, pointing at him for emphasis.

The kitchen door opened and Paul came out, looking a little spaced out and bringing with him a cloud of fragrant smoke. His face broke into a loopy grin when he saw her. "You're so pretty," he said, opening his arms.

"Oh my god you reek of pot."

They swayed together for a moment, with Paul dipping his head down and nibbling at her neck and making her shiver.

"Mm, baby, you should have been in my bed last night. I had a stiffy for you that you wouldn't believe."

"I think I can feel it right now," she whispered.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and people milling all around them as they swayed in the middle of the hallway.

"Come inside my room and I'll let you feel it with your pretty mouth."

"Ssh! Everyone can hear you!"

"Everyone already knows you have a pretty mouth.” He leaned back to peer down at her. "I fucking dream of just kissing you for hours, that's how much I love your mouth."

“You're out of control.”

“I'll show you out of control. Come up to my room and let me have my wicked way with you.”

Before Lainey could respond, George tapped her on the shoulder. "Crisps?"

"No thanks."

Paul reached over her shoulder and grabbed a handful of chips. "Thanks George-o." he said, happily crunching away next to her ear.

"You gonna be all right while we're away filming?"

“I think I can manage to entertain myself somehow in Paradise.”

He plucked a chip crumb from her hair and popped it into his mouth. "Need any money?"

"Nah, I'm good.”

"You sure?" He looked up as Neil walked by carrying a couple of guitars. "Nelly, got any money on you?” Paul shouted.

Neil balanced the guitars and was reaching into his pocket when Lainey stopped him. "I'm fine, really, I don't need anything."

"See you back here for dinner then?” Paul asked, nipping at her lips with salty, corn chip flavored kisses.

"Absolutely. Have fun."

Off he went, holding the door open as Miss Tan Bronx Accent skipped down the hall to catch up with him, popping her gum along the way. "Hiya Paulie. Have a nice night?" Lainey heard her say as they went out together into a gorgeous sunny morning.

It was then that Lainey realized why the girl looked familiar. She was the actress Paul played like a guitar in the movie. They'd be off flirting with each other all day while Lainey cooled her heels alone.

It could be worse, she supposed, returning to the room to grab a bath towel and her sketch pad. If she had to spend the day alone while a hot girl made eyes at her boyfriend, at least she was spending it in a tropical paradise.

 

She was back in her room, showered and dressed and hungry, when the phone rang later that afternoon.

“Hi baby,” Paul said. His voice was low and sexy and did crazy things to her pulse rate. “I’m finished for the day, won’t you come out and play?”

“I’ll be right over,” Lainey said, barely pausing to grab a pair of sandals.

He met her at the front door. “You’re crackin’!” he exclaimed. “You’re looking all lovely and sun kissed.”

“Did you mss me today?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from her lips.

He dipped his head and kissed her, a mind-blowing kiss that left no doubt of the intense energy between them.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lainey said breathlessly.

They kissed all the way up the stairs and fumbled their way into Paul’s room, where he kicked the door closed. There was something so possessive about the way he wrapped her hair in his fist so he could hold her head still and kiss her more thoroughly.

She was weak in the knees when he pulled away to study her, his fingers penetrating her hair to her scalp, where they stroked gently.

“I should tell you, nobody makes me feel the way you do,” he said, smoothing his hand through her hair. “I’ve never been with anyone who gets me this worked up just by kissing.”

"Statistically speaking, that's really saying something."

There was a moment of stunned silence as Paul stared at her as if he couldn't believe what she'd said. Lainey couldn't believe it either. They’d been together five minutes and she was already accusing him of being a playboy. The silence grew between them.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he opened them and shot her a look that made her shiver a little. "That does it," he said.

In a flash, he whirled her around and pinned her, flat on her back on the bed. Her breath came out in a whoosh. He hovered over her, trapping her wrists over her head.

“Take it back," he said, his brown eyes locked on hers. "Take it back or I'll be forced to prove to you that you're my only girl." He pressed his hips against her to demonstrate.

"Prove it," she whispered, her skin growing hot, her desire for him clouding her brain.

He forced a strong leg between her thighs, urging her legs open. Again he lowered his pelvis to her, grinding against her in an excruciatingly slow tease that scrambled her brain and left her heart pounding in her ears and her breath coming short and fast.

“Take it back,” he said again, his breath hot against her neck.

She closed her eyes, waiting for him to bunch her dress in a fist and pull it up to her waist and slide her panties down. Willing it to happen.

“Make me,” she whispered.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his gaze sliding from her eyes to her lips to her collarbone to the neckline of her dress, to her breasts, rising and falling with her quickened breaths.

Then he dipped his head again, running his razor-stubbled cheeks across the upper swells of her breasts. His dark hair was soft against her chin.

She whimpered and arched her back, trying to free her wrists even as she loved the way he had her pinned so she couldn’t move.

Still grinding against her, he kissed his way up her chest, over her jaw to her lips, swallowing her moan in a kiss.

He let go of her wrists and palmed her breast, and Lainey immediately reached for him, freeing his shirt from his pants, sliding her hands beneath it and stroking the heated skin of his back. She’d known they would end up this way, it was inevitable, she’d never been able to resist him. She bent her knees, hooking her leg around the back of his thigh, giving him better access to the spot where she most needed to feel him rubbing.

Then they both gasped and broke apart as the phone shrilled three feet away from their heads.

“Bloody hell,” he rasped. “I told Neil not to ring me tonight unless he was on fire or bleeding from the head.”

With a loud sigh, he crawled over her body and up the bed to reach the phone. "Yeah?" he growled into the receiver. "You must be shitting me." There was a brief pause, and Paul groaned and rolled over onto his back, the phone to his ear. "Bloody hell, Neil." Another pause and a sigh. "All right. Ten minutes."

He dropped the receiver off the side of the bed where it clanged against the table. "Bloody hell, there's yet another reporter and another photographer chasing us all the way to the Bahamas. I worked all morning and I have to go back out there and be Mr. PR man."

Lainey crawled up the bed and lay on her back beside him, her hand over her heart as she tried to catch her breath. "You'll be back though? For dinner?"

“Of course." He shot her a glance from the corner of his eye. “I’m not finished with you yet. My future wife, the queen of my life...she just thinks I'm a slag."

Lainey shook her head. "I don't. It's just really hard to believe in us sometimes when we aren't together."

He picked up her hand, examining it for a minute before bringing it to his lips and kissing each of her knuckles. “You graduate in May, and then you can move to London and stay with me. Problem solved.”

When she didn't answer, he shifted so that he could look her in the eye. "Lainey? You're wrecking me."

“I don't know what to say. I came here wondering if we might break up.” She suddenly felt on the verge of tears.

“Well that hasn’t happened, so now what?”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and slung her arm across her face. It was so hard to think with him looking at her that way.

“Listen to me, Lainey.” Paul rolled closer to her and placed a hand just beneath her breasts, rubbing it back and forth as he spoke. “Things are really popping in London right now. It's the place to be. Carnaby Street, Kings Road… The buyer for Mary Quant is only 22 years old, and she’s always looking for new designers, I know that for a fact. You can get a job designing if that's what you want. I just need to know you're committed to us being together."

She lowered her arm and looked at him. “When I'm with you I am. When you look at me and touch me I would likely promise you anything. But then I get home and see the people I'm leaving behind and I wonder about all the other girls you've had or you will have and if you'll still want me in six months.”

His hand stilled. “What do you mean the girls I will have? There won't be any girls if you're with me, we'll be in a committed relationship.”

Before she could answer, he rolled away from her, sat up and lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

“Paul, I don't know if you're ready for that when you’re only 22 and you can have anyone in the world you want.”

He leapt to his feet and whirled on her, gesturing with the cigarette. “I can't talk about this any more, you're just going to make me angry and I don't want that tonight.”

Lainey sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, frightened at the way Paul was pacing around the room, at the volume of his voice, the way he was pointing at her.

“The only thing we ever fight about is you not being willing to commit to this, do you realize that? I need to know, are you in or are you out?”

Lainey was speechless. He’d never shouted at her this way before. No one had ever shouted at her this way.

“You're the one fucking with my emotions, popping in and out of my life at your whim,” he ranted. “I need you to be here for me. Can you do that or not?”

“I hope so…” she began.

“You _what?_ You _hope_ so? That's not good enough.”

He stopped pacing and pointed a finger in her face, and Lainey had to fight the urge to swat it away.

“When you come back after graduation, I want you to come back to stay or not at all. Do you understand?”

Lainey nodded, eyes wide. “I understand what an ultimatum is, yes.”

He turned away in disgust. “Sod that. It’s about time someone gave you an ultimatum.”

Lainey bit back a response, not wanting to make this fight any worse than it already was. There would be a lot of time back home to regret the words she could shout at him in anger.

“I have to go do this thing,” Paul said. With the cigarette trapped between his lips, he tucked his blue chambray shirt inside his snug blue jeans and started to roll up the sleeves.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his shoulders heaving as he finished his cigarette and came down from his tirade.

She crawled across the bed and situated herself behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders and kneading his tense neck muscles. “I’m really sad when we argue,” she said softly.

“I'm sad about us too.” He took her hands from his shoulders and turned to face her.

"Think about what I'm saying, Lainey. Can you see this from my side? You’re not all the way in, you never have been. It’s like you always have one finger on the button of that bloody phone. Your exit strategy. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Pretty unsure of things, I would imagine.”

“Right.” He stood and stubbed out his cigarette. At the mirror, he picked up a comb and fixed his hair to his satisfaction before he turned to her again.

“Let's review: I haven't got another girl, I'm mad about you, you're mad about me, you can't wait to move to London to be with me, and we're going to have a lovely dinner followed by a night of way overdue, wildly satisfying sex. How does that sound?”

Lainey nodded. She couldn’t seem to work up the energy to answer. It was so draining when he was angry with her.

On the way out of the room, he picked up his school notebook and tossed it on the bed beside her. "I wrote you a song last night. Last page."

As soon as the door closed, Lainey opened the black notebook and flipped to the last written page. The title at the top read "Wait" and the handwriting was careful and precise.

_I feel as though_   
_You ought to know_   
_That I've been good_   
_As good as I can be_   
_And if you do_   
_I'll trust in you_   
_And know that you_   
_Will wait for me_   
_It's been a long time_   
_Now I'm_   
_coming back home_   
_I've been away now_   
_Oh how_   
_I've been alone_

_Wait_   
_till I come back to your side_   
_We'll forget the tears we've cried_

 

She closed the notebook and squeezed her eyes closed.

 _Shit shit shit._ What was she going to do?

She was flat on her back on Paul’s bed, eyes squeezed closed, praying for clarity, when she heard a soft tap on the door. She sprinted to the door, thinking Paul had forgotten his key.

It was the guitar girl. Lainey stared at her, waiting.

"Oh sorry. I didn't know you were here. Is Paul in?"

"No he just left. Can I help you with something?”

“I guess not.”

Lainey started to close the door.

"It must be difficult dating someone like Paul," Carol said with a sly smile.

Lainey looked at the ceiling for a beat, then back at the girl. "All right. I'll bite. Why do you say that?"

"Well he's just so flirtatious, for one thing. I wouldn't have guessed he had a girlfriend." She sniffed, examining her nails. "Maybe an open relationship works for some people."

With a roll of her eyes, Lainey started to close the door again, but Carol put a hand out, stopping her. She opened her palm, revealing a single gold stud. "I've lost one of my earrings, in case you happen to find it." She was looking over Lainey's shoulder, as if searching the room, her eyes lingering on the bed.

"We'll let you know," Lainey said, practically slamming the door.

Chances were good the girl was lying, trying to get Lainey riled up so that she'd start a fight with Paul and leave. There was no reason for Lainey to believe anything this girl said, but on her way back to the bed, her eyes were scanning the carpet and then the bedspread, looking for a tiny gold earring.

Because, bottom line, she didn't trust him. And that's how Lainey knew she couldn't stay with him. He expected her to give up her whole world to be with him, and she didn’t believe he could be loyal.

Lying back on his bed, surrounded by his things, the smell of him everywhere, made it that much harder to leave. She suddenly wished she'd never come. With her heart breaking...She found a pen and a piece of hotel stationery in the nightstand. After a minute to collect her thoughts, she began to try to explain to Paul why she couldn't stay.

 

_Dear Paul,_   
_I'll never forget you, and I'll never love anyone else the way I love you, but I can't promise you that I can leave my entire life behind and be here for you, I'm so sorry. I just don't see how we can make this work. Be safe. Be happy. I love you._

 

She signed her named through blurry eyes. Tears dropped on the paper as she carefully folded the note and put it on his pillow.

Taking a deep breath, she swiped at the tears again and opened the door to go back to her room to collect her things. All she wanted now was to go home and cry for a week and then get on with her life. Paul had his life to live. He had worked for years to make his dreams come true. It was time for Lainey to concentrate on making her own dreams come true.


	38. And In The End

 

It was a strange, lonely summer for Lainey, that first summer after graduation. Kate had moved to San Francisco to work as a graphic artist. Lainey’s mother worked twelve hours a day and was rarely around, her father and Jade were busy leading their own lives, and Lainey had a lot of time to reflect on the direction her life had taken in the past year.

With school over, her life was in a strange sort of holding pattern. She was lonely and heartbroken and couldn’t even imagine dating. Who could follow Paul McCartney? Kate invited her to join her in San Francisco, but Lainey couldn’t picture herself living on the West Coast. Sometimes she couldn’t picture herself living in 2013 at all. More and more often she felt as if she had been born fifty years too late.

It was the end of July before she got a response from any of the dozens of French resumes she’d sent to Paris. There wasn’t a whisper of interest from any of the larger design houses. No surprise there-- they must receive hundreds of applications a month. Simone had come through in the end, arranging a phone interview for Lainey with a small fashion house, much smaller than any of the companies Lainey had hoped to intern for.

“It will be magnifique!” Simone insisted. At a small firm, Lainey would be able to have a “hand in all the pots” and would gain a much broader knowledge of the business. Lainey’s French had greatly improved, the two phone interviews went surprisingly well, and she was offered an unpaid internship in Paris beginning the first of September. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world with no income.

How could she possibly make this happen? A week after receiving the job offer, Lainey pondered the problem in her grandmother’s kitchen while she chopped carrots and potatoes and celery for Irish stew.

“Are you certain about Paris?” Grandma Marie asked.

Lainey heaved a sigh and added the last diced potato to the pot. “It’s the only career I’m suited for. Otherwise I’m just a weird nerdy girl who wears crazy clothes.”

Grandma Marie adjusted the burner and leaned against the kitchen counter, fixing Lainey with her sharp dark eyes. “I suppose it’s time to think about selling the record.”

“What record is that?” Lainey said, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

Grandma Marie narrowed her eyes. “You know what record, girly. Come with me.”

Up to the attic they went, much like last autumn when Grandma Marie had magically produced letters from George Harrison. Lainey followed along with her heart in her throat, wondering what strange alchemy was about to happen now.

Moments later she sat in the middle of the dusty wooden floor, her heart galloping as she examined the item in her hands. “Grandma. When did you get this?”

“Oh, it was about ’66 if I’m not mistaken.”

Lainey shook her head vehemently. “You didn’t have it last year when you showed me the letters from George.”

“Of course I did honey. It’s been right here all this time, along with that cryptic letter from Paul.”

Lainey’s heart was pounding so hard she wondered if she was having a heart attack at 21 years of age. “Can I see the letter?”

Her hands shook as she took the letter from her grandmother, unfolded it and read the familiar handwriting.

_"Dear Marie, Thanks for your continued support. Enclosed is our first disc. When the time is right, you'll know what to do. All my best, Paul McCartney”_

Grandma flitted around the room, opening trunks and taking the lids off of boxes. “Now where could it be?” she muttered.

Lainey put the letter aside and picked up the record, flipping it from one side to the other. As she carefully slid the disc out of its protective sleeve, a picture postcard fluttered into her lap. Setting the record on the trunk in front of her, Lainey picked up the card and examined what appeared to be an old hotel.

Fingers trembling, she turned the postcard over, immediately recognizing the handwriting. And then her heart stopped. She was clearly having a heart attack now. “Grandma, have you ever had this record out of its sleeve?”

“I can’t recall, dear. I'm sure I've never played it. I was so busy back then, I just stored it away and went on with my life.”

Lainey read the words again, her eyes misting.

“Here it is!” Marie announced, and Lainey tucked the postcard beneath one hip as her grandmother turned around, clutching an old brown leather photo album.

Grandma grunted a little as she positioned herself on the floor next to Lainey. “These bones are getting too old for this.” She arranged the photo album on Lainey’s lap and flipped past the first few pages. Then she sat back with a satisfied look on her face.

“What?” Lainey scanned the photos of long dead relatives she’d never seen before. She got to the middle of the second page and gasped. And the world tilted on its axis as the pictures swam before her eyes. _What in the living hell?_ She brought the album closer to her face. It was unmistakable. It was impossible. The gypsy who’d given Lainey the magical gold scarab ring, around this time last year, was gazing serenely out of the Spencer family photo album.

She dropped the album as if it were hot and brought a hand to her throat. “Grandma, I think I’m going to pass out cold before you can tell me why that gypsy is standing in the middle of our dead relatives.”

“That’s no gypsy, dear. That’s my grandmother. Your Great Great Grandmother Marya.”

Lainey took a few deep breaths before allowing herself another peek at the photograph that Marie had removed from the album. It seemed her life just kept getting curiouser and curiouser. After the barest peek to confirm it was indeed her gypsy, Lainey squeezed her eyes closed and wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”

“Now dear, you’re getting yourself far too worked up over this.”

Lainey’s eyes snapped open. “Are you kidding me? I met my long dead great great grandmother in London last summer and she gave me a ring that zapped me into my dead grandfather’s time. How are you _not_ getting worked up?”

Grandma Marie made a tsk tsk noise. “You know I suspected from the start that Grandma Marya was somehow involved in all this.” She removed her bifocals, put down the photograph and fixed her attention on Lainey. “Your great great grandmother claimed there was a time slip in Liverpool and she'd visited the past and the future. We all thought she had bats in the belfry. No one paid her any mind. If it was true though, it would be just like her to meddle in her great great granddaughter's love life. Anyway, that’s water under the bridge.”

“Water under the bridge?” Lainey repeated dumbly.

Grandma Marie snapped the album closed and pointed to the letter Paul had written to her, fifty years ago. “About that record. I think the time is right, don't you?”

***************

_**August 20, 2013** _

_**A rare Beatles record, which has been called the “Holy Grail” of collectors’ items, has been sold at an auction for more than $100,000.** _

_**The 10-inch vinyl from 1962 was the first Beatles disc to be cut before the band gained national stardom, according to the BBC. It features Hello Little Girl, the first song John Lennon ever wrote, and Till There Was You, CNN reports.** _

_**An anonymous British collector bought it for $110,000 on Tuesday, beating out seven telephone bidders from countries including the U.S., Germany and China, according to the news outlet. The record had reportedly been hidden away, wrapped in paper, for more than 50 years before it was discovered. It was found in the attic of Marie Spencer of Richmond, Virginia, an early fan and friend of the Beatles and onetime resident of Liverpool, CNN reports.** _

  
  
Lainey switched off her iPod, still vaguely stunned by the direction her life had taken. It took only weeks to have Paul’s signature verified and the early Beatles record sold for more money than Lainey had ever expected to see in her life. Thanks to Paul and Grandma Marie, Lainey was free to move to Paris and accept the job of her dreams, beginning in two weeks. Paul had given her the chance to make her dreams come true. Everything was falling into place. Everything, that is, but for losing the love of her life.

One afternoon shortly after selling the record, Lainey was at the piano in her dad’s house, struggling with a difficult Rachmaninoff piece. All at once she realized she was playing the theme to the old Christopher Reeve movie “Somewhere in Time,” that heartbreaking ‘80s movie about a writer who traveled back in time to find the woman he loved, and the immense problems caused by their “time” difference.

Lainey had jerked her fingers from the keys and covered her mouth as her body was wracked with sobs. Jade found her hunched over the keyboard, sobbing away. She wrapped her arms around Lainey, rocked her gently and said something typically mystical and profound.

“Sometimes you get lucky and find a soul that grooves with yours. The likelihood of it happening twice is pretty slim.”

Then Jade got up from the bench, closed the door quietly and left Lainey alone to cry it out.

  
The night before she was to leave for Paris, Lainey couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned for an hour, then got up and opened her sketch pad and stared at it, unable to find inspiration. She flipped the page and started to doodle.

The next morning, her suitcase remained empty and open on her bed and she had a sketch pad full of new drawings of Paul...sitting cross-legged on her couch, shiny head bent over his guitar, standing beneath an ancient oak tree in her backyard, head tilted up to the moon, mouth open in a howl, lying on a Bahamian pier under a starry sky.

She moved to her easel and took up her paintbrush, finding just the right shades for that shiny dark head of hair she loved to touch and that full mouth she loved to kiss. The eyes were a problem though. She couldn't capture the exact shade of gold in the flecks of his eyes. Early photographs on the internet were useless and mostly in black and white. No, she couldn't do his eyes justice, not without seeing them again for herself, in person.

She picked up a pen and opened her sketchpad again, but instead of drawing clothing, she began to write a letter to the love of her life.

_Dear Paul,_  
_I tried not to love you. I tried to forget you and get on with my life. But I can’t forget your smile and the love we once felt. I remember the love poems you used to write in your school notebook. Your too tight embraces as we drifted off to sleep. The morning love and the way you filled my life with music. Most of all how we laughed so long and loud we forgot what was funny. My heart aches and I want to run to your door, share your bed, caress your face, drink hot chocolate, get a dog together, play piano duets, and laugh some more._

She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment, lost in thought. Then she picked up the postcard and read Paul’s words again, for the hundredth time. It was dated 22 August 1966. Almost the end of the Beatles final tour. Paul’s touring years were over, and Lainey had graduated from college. The two conditions her grandmother had asked of them were met. What was holding her back from being with Paul now?

What would stop her from becoming hopelessly infected with the excitement of swinging London? From seeing the British Invasion firsthand and the power of music to inspire?

Virginia was home, Paris was her dream, but London was her destiny.

It was half past seven and her suitcase was still unpacked when she picked up her phone and dialed. "Grandma? Is it too late to change my flight?”

******************

"No luggage?" The airline agent eyed Lainey suspiciously.

"She's having everything shipped," Grandma Marie retorted in a mind your own business tone.

"Gate C-12. Have a good flight, Miss Spencer.”

“What's all this about changing your flight at the last moment?” Grandma wanted to know as soon they were seated in the coffee shop just outside the security checkpoint.

"I can't stop thinking about him for some reason. He made this possible. I thought it was what I always wanted, but now that I can have it, I know it isn't. Paris will just be another place to miss Paul.”

"But with better wine..." Grandma mused.

Lainey reached into her handbag and pulled out the now well-worn postcard of the Dorchester Hotel in Washington DC. She slid the card across the table to her grandmother, mouthing the words she knew by heart as she watched her grandmother read Paul’s careful handwriting.

_"My Rainbow,_  
_I want to paint your name across the sky_  
_In letters so high and colorful_  
_You'll come running back to me_  
_Wondering how I've managed to make you smile_  
_From the other side of an ocean_  
_But you have other plans,_  
_So fly high pretty girl_  
_Make your dreams come true_  
_I'll be here to catch you when you land_  
_All My Lovin, JPM”_

Grandma Marie slid the postcard back to Lainey, who tucked it carefully into the side pocket of her handbag. “Imagine that. 1966 and he still thinks you're the one.”

“He's made it possible for me to live in Paris like I've always wanted and now I don't want to do it. I don't want to be in Paris without him. I don't to be anywhere without him for one more minute.” Lainey finally paused to take a breath.

Her grandmother was watching her closely with her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. A strange little smile flitted across her lips. “Is it lust or is it love?”

Lainey felt herself coloring. How do you talk about something like that with your Grandma?

“I thought at first it was lust, but when I lost him, I realized it was absolutely love,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Well, well. It seems the Universe, and your batty great great grandmother, conspired to bring the two of your together. So maybe it is true love after all.”

Lainey felt tears push against the back of her eyes. “Oh grandma, I love you. You’re the one person I never wanted to leave. I'll miss you so much.”

“I'll always be with you in your heart.” She pulled a tissue out of her purse and pressed it in Lainey’s hands. “Don’t start those tears flowing now or I’m out of here. Now you listen to me.”

Lainey dabbed at her eyes and nodded, trying to pull herself together while her grandmother talked.

“Life is full of hard choices. But I've scarcely seen you smile since you last saw that boy. I don't want you to be my age and wondering what would have happened if you’d followed your heart. Trust me, a broken heart would be better than a lifetime of wondering what if. You need to put your heart where it counts. You can build a life that you will love. And stop running away when the relationship gets tough. Make your decision and stick with it.”

Lainey sniffed and wiped at her nose. “I understand.”

“Maybe I'll go back and visit you while I'm seeing your brother.”

Lainey looked up sharply. “What do you mean, go back? You mean time travel?”

Grandma Marie shrugged. “Well why not? You and my grandmother seem to like it.”

“Oh Grandma, would you? If I can get the ring to you somehow, you'll visit us in 1966?”

“Wild horses and five decades couldn't keep me away,” Grandma Marie said, as they both laughed through their tears.

**************************

September, 1966

Lainey stood across the street from EMI studios, her heart leaping with anticipation. The love of her life was only a few steps away. That’s what the old gypsy…er…her great great grandmother…had said to her in this very spot last year. And what a year it had been. A year of love and passion, of heartache and indecision. Finally she was at peace.

Grandma Marie’s last words danced through her head: Stop running away when the relationship gets tough. Make your decision and stick with it.

With a quick look around, Lainey let her iPhone slip from her hand into a trash bin. It was a leap of faith, but wasn't everything in life? She wouldn't be needing an iPhone where she was going.

Her passport and wallet with her driver’s license and credit cards followed the phone into the trash, and she felt lighter somehow. There. She was ready.

She crossed Abbey Road, a million emotions swirling in her head from fear to anticipation to pure giddiness, and walked up to a group of girls standing by the gates of the studio in mini-skirts and boots with cameras around their necks.

The studio gates were locked now. The Beatles lived their lives behind locked gates for their own safety.

“Is that guard’s name Barry?” Lainey asked one of the girls.

As a pack, the girls eyed her suspiciously, looking her up and down, taking in the dress she'd made with its one sleeve, gathered on one side of the waist, with an asymmetrical hem. In case that wasn’t bizarre enough, Lainey had paired the dress with colorful tights and short boots.

"Who are you?" asked a tall girl with curly brown hair and glasses.

"Just a visitor. Probably moving here though," Lainey said, in her friendliest voice.

"What on earth are you wearing?” another asked.

"I didn't bring a lot of clothes with me. Maybe you can tell me where to shop in London.”

"Maybe you can go back where you came from," said the tall brunette.

 _Tough crowd_ , Lainey thought. Her first run in with the gate birds wasn't going well. "Have a nice day then. See ya around.”

“He's Barry but he won't let you in,” a short blonde girl said. “You should wait until Richard gets here.”

Lainey thanked her with a smile and edged up to the guard named Barry.

In one of their many conversations, Paul had given her the names of several security guards and said he'd left her name with them and she would always be welcome at EMI if she needed to find him. But this conversation was a year ago or more. Who knew if she was still welcome here? She squared her shoulders and gave it her best shot.

“Hello Barry? I was wondering if you could see if my name is on some sort of list.”

“Nice try.”

“I need to see Paul McCartney.”

“Right. Don’t they all?”

Lainey sighed. “Is there a way to get a message to the receptionist? I know you hear this every day, but he will want to see me. He said he would leave my name with the guards, and he said Barry was a great guy,” Lainey added, flashing him her sweetest smile.

“Is that a fact.” His eyes softened. “What's your name, love?”

“Lainey Spencer.”

He picked up a clipboard, ran a finger down a list of names, paused, and glanced up with a look of surprise. “Identification?”

That threw her for a loop. She’d just tossed all forms of ID in the trash bin across the street. Not that she could use them here anyway. The 1964 passport Paul had made for her was still in his possession. She reached in her handbag, pulled out the postcard of The Dorchester and handed it to the guard.

He narrowed his eyes, flipping the card over a few times before handing it back. “Come with me, love.”

None other than Neil Aspinall perched on the edge of the blonde receptionist's desk. He looked to be chatting her up. Lainey was so happy to see him she could’ve hugged him. Instead she merely waved and grinned a nervous grin.

"Well if it isn't the colorful Miss Spencer,” Neil said, rising from the desk. “I’ll tell Macca you're here.” He seemed to actually be smiling at her for once.

The receptionist looked Lainey over from head to toe. For the second time in ten minutes, Lainey was rethinking her choice of attire. Nobody in 2013 was ready for her designs, how could people in 1966 not be shocked by them?

Lainey moved a few feet from the desk and gazed around the room at the new gold records lining the walls. Beatles LPs and singles galore. A visual representation of what the group had accomplished in the three years since Lainey had first met them. The Beatles had come to represent everything that was best about the ‘60s. A long playing record without end, a soundtrack of nonstop joy.

The air in the room seemed to change, and Lainey slowly turned.

He was leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, effortlessly cool. When she saw him, her heart beat as fast as it always did, as if offering him a round of applause.

Here was the one thing she wanted and thought about. In person, living, breathing, smiling even, a few feet away, bright with color.

He smiled his megawatt smile, took a step toward her and her heart leapt. He lifted her off her feet with a hug that felt different from anyone else's hug; it was warmer, it was tighter, it was euphoric.

He set her back on her feet and they separated. He licked his lips and looked at her like she was an ice cream cone on a blazing hot summer day. She imagined she was looking at him much the same way. He looked taller, older, more world weary. And even sexier. How was that possible? His smile was still as playful, his hair just as shiny, his eyes even more hypnotizing.

When he spoke his voice was exactly as she remembered, thick and rich and even deeper. He inhaled sharply, shaking his head a bit. “This is a surprise. You got the record then?”

“I did.”

“And you sold it?”

“To an anonymous collector. For more money than I've ever seen in my life.”

“He must be stinking rich.”

Lainey laughed. “And a huge Beatles fan.”

"Or some old lonely bloke who wants to make sure his girl can get back to him.”

Lainey’s heart leapt in her chest. ”I knew it. You bought the record yourself, didn't you?”

He beamed down at her. "How would I know what I will do in 2013? I did write myself a note though.” He patted his back hip pocket. “Keeping it in my wallet for the next fifty years until that record comes up for sale.”

Lainey suddenly felt a little shy, as if it was all too good to be true. “There was a note inside,” she said softly. “You said for me to make my dreams come true.”

“That’s right.” His smile faltered a little, but he kept his expression blank. “Are you on your way to Paris then?”

Lainey took a deep breath. “The thing is, all my life I dreamed of working in Paris, but as it turns out, Paris is just another beautiful place to dream of you. I miss you.”

His face was a vision of relieved happiness. "You don't have to miss me anymore. Ever again.”

 _He still wanted her._ Lainey wanted to pump her fist in the air and turn handsprings around the lobby. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning so wide. She hadn’t grinned this way in months.

The receptionist walked by, pushing a cart with tea and little fancy cakes. “Care for tea?”

“We're fine, thanks, JoAnn,” Paul said, not taking his eyes from Lainey's face.

Instead of moving along with her cart, the woman paused and gave them both a lingering smile. _Just another gal in love with her boyfriend_ , Lainey supposed. She’d have to get used to that.

"Pardon me, I hate to interrupt, but I'm afraid I might not get another chance to ask you..." the woman began.

Lainey waited for the woman to ask Paul for an autograph or a photograph or something, and was startled when she reached out and touched her sleeve. "This dress, do you mind me asking where you got it?”

Lainey hesitated. "Oh...I made it myself…"

“Did you? No wonder I haven't seen anything like it. It's simply smashing! You should open a shop!”

With that, the woman smiled merrily and pushed her cart down the hall and into an office.  
Lainey grinned up at Paul, bursting with pride. "She likes my dress!”

"So do I. That reminds me. I met a designer recently at a party who might be looking for the right sort of artsy apprentice. Her name's Kiki Byrne. I told her all about you and she insisted that you ring her up. But I think you should show your sketches to Mary Quant as well. Who knows, there could be a bidding war for your designs.”

Lainey was practically bouncing on her toes with joy. "I think I'm really going to like it here."  
“Is that right?” His expression turned serious. “You’re here to stay then.”

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

He fixed her with his piercing brown eyes. “Of course I want you to stay, love. You’re my heart. And you know I can’t live without my heart.”

“I loved you since forever,” Lainey blurted out. “I loved you since before I was born. Obviously.”

Then they were laughing together, and it was as if they’d never been apart. “I have a house now, not far from here,” Paul said, an eyebrow arched in invitation.

Lainey could think of nothing she wanted more than to spend the next few weeks holed up in his place cooking, watching movies and being smitten with one another. “I’d love to see it.”

His smile straightened and his brow furrowed. “What changed your mind…about Paris?”

“You did. When you gave me the freedom to follow my dreams, I realized I was chasing the wrong dream all along.”

"You finally came to your mind." The smile returned, in all its megawatt glory. "That's my girl."  
“I think this is where I belong, don't you?”

Their eyes locked, and she was stunned again by his beauty, in a haze of astonishment. Out of all the girls in the world, he picked her out. He chose her. He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation.

He pulled her down the hall toward the front door. “It took you bloody long enough to sort that one out.”

"We're leaving?”

“I’m not fit for more work today. The lads knew that when they heard you were here.”

At the door he dropped her hand and nodded at a security guard. The door opened, autumn sunlight streaking across the marble entryway. Paul's arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. “All right Lainey love? Ready to change history?”

She went willingly, fitting herself against his side, where she belonged, her mind already spinning ahead to what might happen next: today, tomorrow, and the rest of their lives. “Let’s do this,” she said, smiling up at him. He looked down at her with those shining brown/gold eyes that would take her a lifetime to paint. In that moment, they were her whole world. She was here, she was his, and there was nowhere in time she'd rather be.

 

  
THE END!!!  
  


 

 

 

 


End file.
